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THE  HEART 
THA  T  KNOWS 


3s 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

Author  of  "  "Che  Kindred  of  the  Wild, "  "The  Heart  of  the 
Ancient  Wood,"  "Tied Fox,"  etc. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF  CALIFORNIA) 

LOS    AMIKl.Kfl 


Bos/on  <*»  *»  <&>  L.  C.  PAGE  & 
COMPANY  «*«*«*  MDCCCCVI 


Copyright,  igod 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 

Entered  at  Stationer's  Hall,  London 
All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  August,  1906 


COLONIAL  PRESS 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  6f  Co. 
Boston,  U.S.A. 


Co 


213257S 


CONTENTS 


HAPTBR  PAGB 

I.  WHEN  THE  SHIP  WENT  OUT                              i 

II.  THE  BARQUENTINE  G.  G.  GOODRIDGE        .       13 

III.  THE  WEDDING  THAT  WAS  NOT       .        .      20 

IV.  HER  LOVER  AND  His  MOTHER          .        .       30 
V.  WHAT  MELISSA  WANTED           ...      41 

VI.  MELISSA'S  MASTER -STROKE      .        .        -51 

VII.  LUELLA'S  FRIENDS,  AND  OTHERS       .        .      64 

VIII.      "OLD    SIS" 78 

IX.  LUELLA    AND   THE    BLUE    HEN      ...         88 

X.  THE  INTERVIEWING  OF  JIM'S  MOTHER      .     103 

XI.    THE  SEWING  -  CIRCLE 1 1 1 

XII.  ABNER  BAISLEY'S  BILL      ....     128 

XIII.  TURNED  OUT 135 

XIV.  JIM  AND  MELISSA 147 

XV.    To  SOUTHERN  SEAS 153 

XVI.     MELISSA'S  TRIUMPH 159 

XVII.  THE  SPELL  OF  THE  EAST  .        .        .        .     174 

XVIII.  AT  MRS.  BEMBRIDGE'S        .        .        .        .180 

XIX.  DOWN  TO  THE  "Brro"      .        .        .        -197 

XX.  THE  RECTOR  SPEAKS  OUT         .        .        .    207 

XXI.  SETH  AND  His  SCHOOLMATES    .        .        .218 

XXII.  SETH  BEGINS  TO  UNDERSTAND  .        .        .    230 

XXIII.  THE  MEANING  OF  THE  WORD    .        .        .    239 

XXIV.  His  FATHER'S  NAME          ....     249 
XXV.  THE  SEED  OF  VENGEANCE         .        .        .     258 

XXVI.  THE  FORESTERS'  PICNIC    .        .        .        .268 
vii 


Vlll 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

PAGB 

XXVII. 

INSULT         

285 

XXVIII. 

SETH  GOES  TO  SEA    

298 

XXIX. 

THE  MATE  OF  THE  MARY  OF  TECK 

3«>9 

XXX. 

THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  DANCE  -HALL     .        . 

319 

XXXI. 

THE  BO'SUN'S  BELAYING  -PIN    . 

329 

XXXII. 

THE  RECTOR  AND  TIM  LARSEN 

337 

XXXIII. 

SETH'S  FATHER           

349 

XXXIV. 

WHAT  THE  HEART  KNOWS 

363 

XXXV. 

THE   BREATH   OF  THE   TIDE   AND   LILAC 

374. 

THE 

HEART  THAT  KNOWS 


CHAPTER    I. 

WHEN    THE   SHIP    WENT   OUT 

AN  unremitting  wind,  blowing  down  the  vast 
and  solitary  green  levels  of  Tantramar,  bowed  all 
one  way  the  deep  June  grasses  over  the  miles  on 
miles  of  marsh.  A  tall  girl,  standing  alone  on  the 
crest  of  the  dyke,  —  the  one  human  figure  visible 
in  the  wide,  bright-coloured  emptiness  of  the  morn- 
ing, —  caught  its  full  force  and  braced  herself 
sturdily  against  it.  It  flapped  the  starched  wings 
of  her  deep  white  sunbonnet  across  her  face, 
twitched  out  a  heavy  streamer  of  her  flax-blond 
hair,  and  pressed  her  thin,  blue  and  white  calico 
gown  close  upon  the  tenderly  rounded  lines  of  her 
slim  young  figure.  The  soft,  insistent  noise  of  it, 
mingled  with  the  sound  of  the  shallow,  dancing 
waves  that  swept  along  past  the  dyke-front,  con- 


The  Heart  That  Knows 


fused  her  ears  and  partly  numbed  her  thought. 
But  her  eyes,  which  were  large,  and  of  a  peculiarly 
positive  porcelain  blue,  were  fixed  with  anxious 
strain  upon  a  ship  riding  at  anchor  far  out  across 
the  yellow  waves.  That  ship,  a  black-hulled 
barquentine  on  the  yards  of  whose  foremast  the 
white  sails  were  being  broken  out,  was  evidently 
the  one  thing  her  eyes  took  note  of  in  all  the  spa- 
cious scene. 

The  scene  was  all  space,  —  all  high,  light  colour, 
wind-washed  brightness,  and  loneliness.  Toward 
the  southeast,  where  the  girl  was  looking,  and  in  a 
vast  sweep  around  the  southward  horizon,  spread 
the  tawny,  tumbled  waters  of  Fundy,  eternally 
vexed  by  their  terrific  tides.  Beyond  the  ship  — 
leagues  beyond,  and  across  the  yellow  water  — 
rose  the  low  blue  hills  of  Minudie.  To  eastward 
outspread  the  interminable  light  green  levels  of  the 
Tantramar  marshes,  with  the  dark  green  spur  of 
Fort  Beausejour  thrust  out  to  fence  them  off  from 
the  marshes  of  the  Missaguash.  Further  around 
to  the  left  the  grassy  solitudes  were  cleft  and 
threaded  by  the  many-winding  channel  of  that 
most  mutable  of  rivers,  the  Tantramar,  just  now 
at  full  tide,  and  pouring  its  pale,  copper-coloured 
flood  into  the  bay  almost  before  the  girl's  feet. 
The  windings  of  the  river  —  which  twisted  hither 
and  thither  as  if  it  had  forgotten  its  way  —  made 


When  the  Ship  Went  Out 


bright,  reddish  yellow  slashes  and  patches  over  the 
wide  green  of  the  marsh. 

Still  further  to  the  left,  along  the  foot  of  the 
uplands  which  ran  diminishing  northward,  a  far- 
off  group  of  roofs,  with  a  couple  of  church  spires 
and  a  cluster  of  masts,  showed  the  little  town  of 
Sackville  on  its  gently  billowing  hills.  Much 
nearer,  a  promontory  of  wooded  upland  bore,  half- 
hidden  in  its  front,  an  old  colonial  mansion,  "  West- 
cock  House,"  with  horse-chestnuts  and  Lombardy 
poplars  ranged  majestically  before  it.  Outspread 
behind  the  watcher  on  the  dyke  lay  a  mile-breadth 
of  the  same  light  green  marshes,  traversed  by  a 
meandering  creek  which  came  to  the  sea  reluc- 
tantly, close  at  the  girl's  right.  It  pierced  the  mas- 
sive barrier  of  the  dyke  by  an  aboi  d'eaux  (or 
"  Bito,"  as  the  country-folk  called  it),  and  formed 
a  tiny  port  for  the  boats  of  the  shad-fishers,  whose 
high,  brown  net-reels  sentinelled  its  borders.  The 
broad  belt  of  marsh,  secure  behind  its  rampart  of 
dyke,  ran  off  in  long  curves  toward  the  southwest, 
and  terminated  at  the  rocky,  oak-crowned  heights 
of  Wood  Point.  Behind  it,  trailing  out  sparsely 
along  the  tilled  slope  of  the  upland,  and  dotted  here 
and  there  with  dark  fir-groves,  lay  the  southerly 
portion  of  Westcock  village,  the  rest  of  it  hidden 
from  sight  behind  a  shoulder  of  dark  fir-groves. 

The  marshes,  at  this  season  of  early  summer, 


4  The  Heart  That  Knows 

were  covered  with  a  three-foot  growth  of  timothy 
and  other  fine  hay-grasses.  Here  and  there,  for 
acres  at  a  time,  the  grass  could  not  bow  and  turn 
blue  evenly  before  the  wind,  because  it  was  stiff 
with  the  blooms  and  tangled  leafage  of  the  great 
red  clover.  Here  and  there,  too,  instead  of  the 
rosy  stain  of  the  clover,  vast  patches  of  blossom- 
ing vetch,  entwined  with  the  grass  stems,  spread 
a  wash  of  undulating  purple  over  the  pale  green. 
For  the  most  part,  however,  the  levels  bore  no 
colour  but  green,  vivid  and  pure  when  the  grass 
stood  up  in  a  rare  lull  of  the  wind,  but  bluish  and 
beryl-pallid  as  the  bending  tops  revealed  the  lower 
surfaces  of  blade  and  bloom.  Along  the  twisting 
banks  of  the  creek,  along  the  inner  bases  of  the 
dyke,  along  every  deep  but  narrow  drainage  ditch, 
and  along  both  sides  of  the  rutted  road  of  dry  mud 
which  led,  a  rusty  streak  across  the  green,  from 
the  little  haven  of  the  shad-boats  to  the  far-off, 
sunny  uplands,  ran  wild  roses,  their  leafage  of  yel- 
lowish bronze  now  thick  strewn  with  golden- 
hearted  blossoms  of  pale  pink.  Everywhere,  in  a 
riot  of  summer  exuberance,  hummed  and  foraged 
the  great  black  and  gold  bumblebees.  Brown 
marsh-hawks  winnowed  low  over  the  grass-tops, 
quartering  every  grass-packed  acre  for  the  field- 
mice  which  scurried  among  the  grass-roots.  And 
over  all  this  shining  world  of  green  earth  and 


When  the  Ship  Went  Out 


yellow  sea  hung  a  low-vaulted  sky  of  light,  pure 
blue,  the  blue  of  thinned  cobalt. 

For  nearly  two  hours  the  girl  had  waited  on  the 
wind-swept  dyke,  watching  the  ship.  She  had  been 
expecting  to  see  a  boat  put  off  from  the  ship's  side, 
and  head  for  the  mouth  of  the  creek.  The  tide  had 
crept  in  yellow  over  the  red  flats,  till  it  brimmed 
the  creek  mouth  with  its  broken,  white-topped 
waves  and  washed  foaming  along  the  bases  of  the 
dyke  below  her  feet.  After  half  an  hour  she  won- 
dered and  grew  impatient.  Then,  at  slack  of  tide, 
she  began  to  grow  angry,  —  for  Jim  had  asked 
her  to  meet  him  out  here  on  the  dyke  at  high  tide 
that  they  might  talk  over  certain  matters  of  intimate 
concern  at  safe  distance  from  eye  and  ear  of  the 
village  gossips.  That  night,  in  Westcock  church, 
a  great  event  was  to  take  place,  before  the  sailing 
of  the  ship  on  the  morrow's  ebb;  and  Luella  felt 
that  on  such  a  day,  when  she  had  so  much  to  do, 
it  ill  became  her  lover  to  be  late. 

But  when,  after  this  long  waiting,  the  girl  saw 
that  the  ship  was  beginning  to  make  sail,  anger 
gave  way  to  an  anxiety  which  soon  grew  to  a 
terrible  fear.  A  child  of  the  fisher  and  sailor  folk 
of  Fundy,  she  read  the  signs  only  too  well.  The 
tide  was  just  on  the  turn.  Presently  the  tremen- 
dous ebb  would  begin  and  for  six  hours  the  vast 
Chignecto  Basin,  which  forms  the  head  of  Fundy, 


The  Heart  That  Knows 


would  disgorge  its  tawny  waters  toward  the  ocean, 
till  its  level  would  be  lowered  by  some  thirty  or 
forty  feet,  the  tortuous  channels  of  Tantramar  and 
all  its  tributary  creeks  would  be  changed  to  glisten- 
ing, red,  steep-sided  chasms  of  mud,  and  league 
upon  league  of  oozy,  red-gold  flats  would  lie  un- 
covered between  the  water  and  the  dykes.  Luella 
saw  that,  with  wind  and  tide  agreeing,  it  was  a 
most  favourable  time  for  the  G.  G.  Goodridge  to 
set  sail,  and  work  her  way  out  from  the  shoals  and 
mad  currents  of  the  upper  bay.  The  G.  G,  Good- 
ridge  was  what  is  known  as  a  "  barquentine,"  a  ship 
of  three  masts,  the  foremast  carrying  yards  and 
square  sails,  —  square-rigged,  that  is,  —  and  the 
main  and  mizzen  masts  schooner-rigged,  with 
booms  and  gaffs.  When  Luella  saw  the  canvas 
spreading  white  on  the  yards  of  the  foremast,  she 
could  not  long  delude  herself.  She  could  not  see 
the  men  at  the  windlass,  heaving  the  anchor,  but 
her  overtense  ears  hypnotized  by  the  implacable 
drumming  of  the  wind,  seemed  to  hear  the  far-off 
chantey  and  the  rhythmic  creaking  of  the  windlass. 
Soon  the  ship  began  to  forge  slowly  ahead,  and  she 
knew  that  the  anchor  was  up.  Then  a  jib  was 
broken  out,  bellying  full;  and  then  up  went  the 
great  white  mainsail,  gleaming  marvellously  'in  the 
sun.  The  G.  G.  Goodridge  was  now  a  half-mile 
from  her  anchorage,  and  gathering  headway.  In 


When  the  Ship  Went  Out 


a  few  minutes  she  was  fairly  hidden  in  her  cloud 
of  canvas,  careening  majestically,  and  passing 
down  the  bay  with  the  full  favour  of  wind  and  tide. 
Only  too  well  Luella  knew  how  long  would  be  the 
voyage  thus  begun  before  her  anguished  eyes.  She 
had  talked  it  all  over,  and  over,  and  over  with 
Jim.  The  G.  G.  Goodridge  was  bound  for  Monte- 
video with  a  cargo  of  fish  and  deals,  there  to  dis- 
charge, and  perhaps  take  freight  for  around  the 
Horn  and  up  the  Pacific  Coast  to  Valparaiso.  From 
some  Peruvian  port  —  Luella  could  not  remember 
whether  it  was  Arequipo  or  Callao  that  Jim  said 
—  she  would  load  with  nitrates  for  Liverpool,  and 
then,  possibly,  return  to  New  Brunswick,  after  an 
absence  of  perhaps  two  years.  Luella  knew  that 
Jim  Calder  was  aboard  the  vessel  now  passing  so 
swiftly  from  before  her  eyes.  Three  weeks  ago 
that  day  he  had  signed  his  papers  as  second  mate 
of  the  G.  G.  Goodridge.  For  two  years  he  had 
been  Luella' s  acknowledged  lover;  and  it  had  been 
a  pledge  between  them  that  they  should  be  married 
when  Jim  got  his  papers  as  mate.  The  wedding 
was  to  have  been  that  night.  And  Luella  was  to 
have  sailed  with  him  on  the  morrow  as  far  as 
St.  John,  there  to  bid  him  farewell,  and  return  to 
Westcock  to  await  his  home-coming. 

When,  at  last,  the  whole  overwhelming  signifi- 
cance of  what  had  happened  penetrated  her  numb 


8  The  Heart  That  Knows 

brain,  Luella  sank  down  into  a  huddling  heap  upon 
the  dyke,  staring  dry-eyed,  and  clutching  uncon- 
sciously at  the  long  strings  which  tied  her  sun- 
bonnet  beneath  her  chin.  In  her  unheeding  grasp 
the  bow  came  untied.  Instantly  the  wind  twitched 
the  sunbonnet  from  her  head,  carried  it  flap- 
ping and  turning  out  to  sea,  and  dropped  it 
into  the  huddle  of  yellow  waves.  The  great  coils 
of  her  hair  came  unpinned,  and  streamed  out,  pale 
flaxen  yellow  and  softly  rich,  like  silk.  But  Luella 
did  not  know  that  her  sunbonnet  was  gone.  She 
was  unconscious  even  that  she  had  sunk  down  upon 
her  knees.  She  only  knew  that  Jim  was  on  that 
vanishing  ship,  —  that  he  had  gone  without  a  word 
to  her,  —  that  not  for  two  years,  at  the  very  best, 
could  she  hope  to  see  him  again,  —  that  there 
would  be  no  wedding  that  night  in  the  little  West- 
cock  church,  —  and  that  a  formless  horror  of  fear 
and  shame  and  anguish  was  drawing  near  to  engulf 
her.  Her  set  lips,  slowly  turning  gray,  uttered  not 
a  sound,  as  she  stared  steadily  after  the  fleeting 
cloud  of  canvas.  At  last,  it  disappeared  around 
the  lofty  shoulder  of  Wood  Point.  When  it  had 
vanished,  she  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  cry,  caught 
at  her  heart,  and  made  a  motion  as  if  to  throw 
herself  into  the  water.  Death,  at  the  moment, 
seemed  so  simple  a  solution,  and  the  only  effective 
one.  But  while  she  had  been  watching  the  ship 


When  the  Ship  Went  Out 


the  tide  had  been  ebbing  in  fierce  haste,  after  the 
fashion  of  these  tides  of  Tantramar;  and  where, 
the  last  time  she  took  note  of  things,  the  waves  had 
been  tumbling  at  her  feet,  spread  now  a  dozen  rods 
of  mud  flat,  oozily  glistening  in  the  sun.  She 
could  reach  the  water  only  by  wading  knee-deep 
in  slime.  The  picture  of  what  she  would  have 
looked  like  if  she  had  flung  herself  from  the  dyke 
forced  itself  upon  her,  and  she  sat  down  suddenly, 
with  a  hysterical  cry.  In  this  the  first  perilous 
moment  of  her  despair,  she  was  saved.  Then  her 
strong  will,  and  the  sanity  of  those  who  have  lived 
simply  and  naturally,  came  to  her  aid.  She  turned 
her  back  upon  the  water,  took  one  desperate  look 
at  the  far-off  uplands  and  the  houses  of  the  village 
to  which  she  must  return,  then  descended  the  inner 
face  of  the  dyke,  and  ran  and  threw  herself  face 
down  in  the  deep  of  the  grass. 

For  hours  she  lay  there,  hidden  from  all  eyes 
but  those  of  the  marsh-hawk,  which  now  and  then 
winged  over  her  to  fly  off  to  one  side  with  a  sudden 
heavy  flapping  and  a  shrill  piping  cry  of  astonish- 
ment. The  girl's  brain  was  too  numb  to  think, 
but  it  was  scorching  dry  with  grief,  and  amazed 
injury,  and  terror  of  a  future  of  humiliation  which 
she  realized  only  as  a  monstrous,  uncomprehended 
nightmare.  She  lay  with  her  eyes  shut,  and  covered 
by  her  hands,  and  tearless,  but  with  her  parched 


10  The  Heart  That  Knows 

lips  half-open.  Over  and  over,  but  with  the  futility 
of  utter  inconsequence,  her  brain  clutched  at  every 
conceivable  or  inconceivable  explanation  of  the 
blow  which  had  fallen  upon  her.  Over  and  over, 
with  deadly  repetition  and  never  any  possible  ad- 
vance, she  recalled  and  dwelt  upon  and  squeezed 
to  dryness  every  word  of  her  last  talk  with  Jim, 
only  the  afternoon  before,  —  when  he  had  been  all 
tenderness  and  loyal  passion,  she  all  trust  and  for- 
ward-looking gladness,  in  spite  of  the  weary  two 
years  of  separation  which  she  had  braced  herself 
to  face  for  his  sake.  While  her  heart  and  brain 
were  surging  with  the  tumult  of  her  pain,  out- 
wardly she  was  as  still  as  a  dead  thing.  A  bright- 
striped  garter-snake,  hunting  among  the  grass- 
stems  for  mice  and  crickets,  came  suddenly  upon 
her,  and  darted  away  in  frightened  writhings. 
And  later,  a  foraging  yellow  weasel,  hardly  less 
sinuous  and  soundless  than  the  snake,  stole  around 
her  with  unfriendly  eyes  for  nearly  half  an  hour. 

Meanwhile  the  yellow  tide  retreated  down  the 
glassy  flats  till  the  noise  of  the  waves  quite  died 
away,  and  there  was  no  sound  on  the  air  but  the 
hum  of  the  bumblebees  and  the  swish  of  the  wind 
in  the  bowing  grass.  The  sun  rolled  slowly  across 
the  light  blue  arc  of  sky,  and  sank  below  the 
fir-crested  ridge  of  uplands  behind  Westcock  vil- 
lage. The  sky  grew  one  transparent  orange  blaze 


When  the  Ship  Went  Out  1 1 

over  the  ridge,  barred  with  three  long,  narrow,  hor- 
izontal clouds  of  purest  crimson.  The  crimson 
died  slowly  to  cold  purple,  the  orange  blaze  to 
tenderest  lilac  and  lavender;  and  the  zenith  took 
on  the  green  of  a  clear  sea  that  washes  over  white 
sands.  The  wind  died  suddenly.  The  uplands 
grew  bottle-green,  then  black,  and  the  wide,  un- 
shadowed spaces  of  the  marsh  melted  through 
citron  and  violet  into  a  dusky  gray-brown,  full  of 
inexplicable  warmer  lights.  At  last  a  few  stars 
glimmered  forth,  and  the  marshes  fell  into  an 
aerial,  indeterminate  blackness,  with  the  unending 
barrier  of  the  dyke  a  solid  black  rampart  against 
the  hollow  sky.  Lights  gleamed  yellow  in  scat- 
tered windows.  Then,  from  far  over  the  hill, 
came  the  faint  sound  of  a  church-bell,  elusive  and 
sweet  as  a  fading  memory,  the  summons  of  the 
little  Westcock  congregation  to  that  evening  serv- 
ice at  which  every  one  in  the  village  was  expecting 
to  see  Luella  Warden  married  to  Jim  Calder.  The 
sound  of  the  bell  pierced  to  the  girl's  brain.  She 
rose  slowly,  noticed  how  drenched  her  heavy  hair 
was,  and  re-coiled  it  punctiliously.  In  a  flash  she 
pictured  the  amused  wonder  that  would  presently 
grow  on  the  faces  of  the  congregation,  the  anxiety 
with  which  the  kind  eyes  of  the  rector  would  keep 
glancing  at  the  door,  expectant.  For  a  moment, 
as  she  thought  of  his  loving  interest  in  her  mar- 


12  The  Heart  That  Knows 

riage,  the  concern  he  had  shown  for  the  welfare 
of  herself  and  Jim,  and  the  way  he  had  helped  Jim 
study  to  pass  his  examinations,  her  mouth  quiv- 
ered and  her  eyes  softened.  This  was  but  for  a 
second,  however.  Then,  with  lips  set  hard  as 
stone,  she  took  the  dim  road  homeward. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE   BARQUENTINE    G.  G.  GOODRIDGE 

THE  barquentine  G.  G.  Goodridge  was  a  new 
ship,  fresh  from  Purdy's  shipyard  and  the  tarred 
hands  of  the  riggers.  She  was  of  four  hundred 
tons  register,  and  owned  in  Sackville  and  West- 
cock.  As  she  started  down  the  Bay  of  Fundy  on 
her  maiden  voyage  she  was  held  to  be  sailing  under 
the  special  favour  of  Providence,  in  that  she  bore 
in  white  letters  across  her  stern,  as  well  as  on  her 
starboard  bow,  the  name  of  the  well-loved  rector 
of  the  parish,  the  Reverend  G.  G.  Goodridge.  She 
owed  her  very  existence,  indeed,  to  the  rector's  effi- 
cient succour  at  a  crucial  moment;  and  among  the 
seafaring  folk,  who  are  always  superstitious  (as  be- 
comes men  who  live  with  the  great  mysteries),  it 
was  considered  that  his  name  would  be  her  pass- 
port to  the  good-will  of  fate. 

It  happened  that  very  late  one  night,  when  the 
barquentine  was  still  on  the  stocks  in  Purdy's  ship- 
yard, the  rector  was  jogging  slowly  homeward 
from  the  bedside  of  a  sick  parishioner  in  Sackville. 


14  The  Heart  That  Knows 

It  was  a  moonless  night,  the  blue-black  sky  sown 
thick  with  stars  and  the  Great  Bear  wheeling  low. 
Purdy's  shipyard  is  on  a  short  but  wide-channelled 
creek  emptying  into  the  Tantramar  in  that  portion 
of  Westcock  village  which  lies  on  the  Sackville 
road,  half  a  mile  south  of  the  Frosty  Hollow 
"  Bito."  The  rector's  head  was  sunk  in  reverie, 
the  reins  hung  loose  on  the  horse's  neck,  and  the 
light  "  buggy,"  its  top  lowered  back,  jolted  at  its 
will  over  every  rut  and  stone  in  the  rough  country 
road.  As  he  passed  Purdy's  shipyard,  however, 
the  rector  raised  his  eyes,  and  glanced  down  at 
the  fine  new  vessel  in  which  all  Westcock  was  in- 
terested. In  another  week  she  would  be  gay  with 
flags;  and  at  high  tide,  amid  the  chorus  of  an 
enthusiastic  throng,  she  would  glide  down  her 
greased  and  smoking  "  ways  "  to  plunge  with  an 
enormous  splash  into  the  yellow  waters  of  the 
creek-basin.  The  shipyard  was  a  good  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  road,  but  the  great,  tarred  hull,  high 
on  its  stocks,  was  conspicuous  against  the  glimmer 
of  water  beyond.  But  it  was  not  the  lofty  shadow 
of  the  hull  that  caught  the  rector's  eye  and  made 
him  sit  up,  very  wide-awake.  The  next  instant 
he  turned  the  horse's  head  sharply,  drove  bumping 
over  the  ditch  and  the  roadside  hillocks  to  the 
fence,  sprang  out,  and  threw  the  reins  over  a  fence 
stake.  Then  he  vaulted  the  fence  and  ran  as  fast 


The  Barqucntine  G.  G.  Goodridge     15 

as  he  could  across  the  fields  toward  the  ship,  shout- 
ing "Fire!  Fire!  Fire!"  at  the  top  of  his  great 
voice. 

The  flames  were  just  beginning  to  rise  from  a 
heap  of  rubbish  close  under  the  stern,  when  the 
rector  vaulted  the  fence.  When  he  reached  the 
ship  they  were  licking  high  and  red  upon  the  fresh- 
tarred  sides.  A  workman's  bucket  stood  near; 
and,  fortunately  for  the  ship,  the  tide  was  at  its 
height,  lapping  softly  almost  under  the  stern-port. 
The  rector  was  a  man  of  great  muscular  strength 
and  trained  activity.  Though  his  lungs  heaved 
hard  from  that  quarter-mile  sprint  across  the  un- 
even, dusky  fields,  in  a  few  seconds  he  had  dashed 
bucket  after  bucket  of  water  upon  the  blaze,  and 
upon  the  little,  incipient  flames  which  were  begin- 
ning to  hiss  here  and  there  far  up  the  ship's  side. 
By  the  time  the  ship-carpenters  came  running,  half- 
awake,  from  the  big  house  far  at  the  other  side  of 
the  yard,  the  rector  had  the  fire  well  in  hand,  and 
there  was  only  a  smouldering,  smoking  pile  of 
chips  and  shavings  to  show  what  had  happened. 
The  rector  was  hot,  and  tired,  as  well  as  angry 
at  the  carelessness  which  could  leave  a  lot  of  such 
inflammable  stuff  so  close  beside  the  ship.  His 
voice  was  stern  as  he  addressed  the  staring  fore- 
man. 

"  Did  you  want  the  ship  to  be  burned,"  he  in- 


16  The  Heart  That  Knows 

quired,  pointing  to  the  heap,  "  that  you  left  all  that 
stuff  there?" 

The  foreman  rubbed  his  head. 

"  There  wasn't  no  stuff  left  nigh  to  her,  not  a 
mite,  when  we  knocked  off  work  at  sundown,"  he 
declared,  positively.  "  No  sir-ee,  parson.  If  any 
one  of  the  hands  done  a  fool  trick  like  that,  he'd 
git  the  sack  right  quick." 

As  he  spoke,  the  rector  stooped  and  picked  up 
an  empty  kerosene-can.  Without  a  word  he  held  it 
aloft.  One  of  the  hands  had  brought  a  lantern 
from  the  house.  He  swung  it  up,  and  the  smoky 
light  fell  upon  the  circle  of  bearded,  wondering 
faces  gathered  about  the  rector.  As  they  stared 
at  the  kerosene-can,  understanding  kindled,  and 
an  angry  growl  passed  swiftly  from  throat  to 
throat. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  rector,  dropping  the  can  with 
a  tinny  clang,  "  it's  the  work  of  an  incendiary. 
And  he  can't  be  far  away." 

"  We'll  git  him ! "  swore  the  foreman,  with  an 
earnest  and  ingenious  oath  which  the  rector  did 
not  seem  to  hear;  and  in  an  instant,  as  if  each  man 
in  the  crowd  had  received  his  individual  orders, 
they  all  scattered,  and  faded  away  into  the  dark. 
The  rector,  left  once  more  alone,  stood  for  a  few 
seconds  pulling  at  his  beard  and  glancing  after 
them,  an  amused  smile  lurking  about  the  corners 


The  Barquentine  G.  G.  Goodridge     17 

of  his  kindly,  tolerant  mouth.  Then  he  kicked  the 
pile  of  embers  all  apart,  drenched  them  with  several 
more  buckets  of  water  till  not  a  spark  winked 
through  the  gloom,  threw  down  the  bucket  with  a 
deep  breath  of  satisfaction,  and  betook  himself 
away  across  the  fields  to  where  he  had  left  the 
horse  and  buggy.  He  had  no  interest  in  the  catch- 
ing of  the  rascal  who  had  set  the  fire,  —  and,  in- 
deed, they  never  did  catch  him.  But  as  a  result  of 
that  night's  adventure  the  name  of  the  barquentine, 
which  was  to  have  been  the  Elmira  Etter,  was 
changed  at  the  eleventh  hour  to  the  G.  G.  Good- 
ridge,  much  to  the  rector's  surprise  and  boyish 
gratification.  He  had  always  wanted  to  travel, 
but  had  never  felt  free  to  gratify  the  desire.  And 
now,  his  imagination  was  keenly  stirred  by  the 
thought  of  this  ship  which  bore  his  name  visiting 
the  foreign  lands  and  the  strange,  peacock-hued 
seas  of  which  he  had  wistfully  dreamed.  It  lay 
close  to  his  heart  that  this  ship  should  have  to  do 
with  nought  but  honest  and  clean  trading,  with 
humaneness  and  with  good  works.  When  he 
learned  that  Captain  Job  Britton,  of  Wood  Point, 
was  to  be  her  master,  he  felt  secure,  for  he  knew 
Job's  sturdy  honesty,  as  well  as  the  real  kindness 
of  heart  that  hid  itself,  not  ineffectually,  behind  his 
gnarled  and  grizzled  exterior. 

Captain   Job  was  a   widower  of  fifty.     When 


1 8  The  Heart  That  Knows 

ashore,  —  which  was  seldom,  as  every  ship-owner 
from  Dorchester  to  the  Joggins  craved  his  serv- 
ices, —  he  lived  in  a  snug  white  cottage  just 
below  the  Point,  with  his  one,  idolized  daughter, 
Melissa,  and  Melissa's  aunt,  a  spinster  of  matured 
and  immitigable  acidity.  He  was  rather  short,  but 
of  an  astonishing  breadth  of  shoulder,  with  short- 
cut, matted,  reddish  gray,  streaked  hair,  bushy  red 
and  gray  beard,  and  bristling,  pale  eyebrows  over  a 
pair  of  deep-set,  piercing,  steel-gray  eyes.  His  mas- 
sive neck,  and  all  the  skin  of  his  face  that  was  not 
mantled  with  hair,  were  mahogany  red,  and  deeply 
creased  with  the  wrinkles  that  tell  of  ceaseless  bat- 
tling with  wind  and  salt  and  sun. 

Melissa,  who  since  babyhood  had  been  well- 
spoiled,  not  only  by  her  father,  but  even  by  her 
aunt,  was  a  smallish,  thinnish,  decidedly  pretty 
blonde  of  the  carroty  type,  with  eyes  pale  but 
bright,  a  skin  faintly  freckled,  and  a  mouth  both 
full-lipped  and  firm,  which  curiously  contradicted 
the  softness  of  the  rest  of  her  face.  Her  voice  was 
a  childlike  treble,  and  her  whole  manner  was  one 
of  trustful  frankness.  Nevertheless,  for  all  her 
softness  and  trustfulness,  no  one  but  her  father 
quite  trusted  her;  and  the  girls  at  the  Sackville 
seminary,  where  she  had  got  her  schooling,  found 
that,  though  she  was  generous  in  her  way,  and  anx- 
ious to  be  liked,  it  was  never  safe  to  traverse  her 


The  Barquentine  G.  G.  Goodridge      19 

purpose  in  even  the  most  trivial  matter.  They  dis- 
trusted her,  of  course,  for  her  prettiness,  among 
other  good  reasons ;  but  most  of  all  they  distrusted 
her  because,  though  she  seemed  so  timid,  she  was 
not,  in  reality,  afraid  of  anything,  not  even  of  June- 
bugs  and  mice,  which  every  nice  young  lady  ought 
to  fear.  From  all  this  it  would  appear  that  Melissa 
Britton,  behind  her  small,  pale  face  and  under  her 
luxuriant,  glossy,  light  red  hair,  concealed  a  per- 
sonality to  be  reckoned  with.  Both  she  and  Luella 
Warden  sang  in  the  parish  church  choir,  her  flute- 
like  soprano  and  Luella's  rich  contralto  being  the 
rector's  chief  dependence  on  those  rare  occasions, 
such  as  Christmas,  or  Easter,  or  a  visit  from  the 
bishop,  when  there  was  anthem-music  to  be  ren- 
dered. Between  the  two  there  was  a  certain  nat- 
ural rivalry  in  this  matter  of  voice,  though  neither 
of  them  realized  it,  thanks  to  the  rector's  vigilant 
tact.  Melissa  admired  Luella's  voice,  but  confi- 
dently, though  in  secret,  preferred  her  own.  Luella 
was  inclined,  as  a  rule,  to  agree  with  her.  While 
the  rector,  rather  preferring  Luella's  for  its  sym- 
pathetic breadth  and  cello-like  tenderness,  never 
allowed  his  preference  to  be  guessed. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    WEDDING   THAT    WAS   NOT 

TECHNICALLY,  it  was  a  rectory,  in  that  it  was 
the  official  residence  of  the  rector  of  the  parishes 
of  Westcock  and  Dorchester;  but  the  old,  wide- 
eaved,  brick  house  where  Mr.  Goodridge  lived  was 
known  as  Westcock  Parsonage.  It  stood  about 
half-way  up  the  long  slope  of  the  hill,  presenting 
its  side,  with  dormer-windowed  roof,  to  the  vast, 
aerial  view  of  the  marshes  and  the  bay,  while  its 
wide  gable-end  fronted  on  the  ill-kept  road  running 
up  and  over  the  ridge.  At  each  end  of  the  house 
stood  a  luxuriant  thicket  of  lilacs,  and  between  the 
lilacs,  along  below  the  windows  of  the  view,  ran 
a  green  terrace  studded  with  pink,  yellow,  and  blue 
beehives.  Below  the  terrace  spread  a  neat  garden 
of  old-fashioned  flowers,  flanked  by  old  cherry  and 
apple  trees;  and  below  that  a  strip  of  vegetable 
garden,  showing  by  its  trim  prosperity  that  the 
rector  was  a  good  gardener.  Then,  a  sloping  field 
of  upland  grass,  thick-starred  with  buttercups  and 
daisies.  Then  the  Wood  Point  road  along  the  hill- 
side, with  its  two  parallel  lines  of  weather-beaten 

20 


The  Wedding  That  Was  Not        21 

fence;  and  below  the  road  a  half-mile  of  fields  and 
rough  pasture  lots,  leading  down  to  the  deep- 
bosomed  fertility  of  the  marsh-level.  From  those 
high,  narrow  dormer-windows  on  the  roof,  looking 
southeastward  over  the  solitudes  of  green,  and 
tawny  gold,  and  blue,  all  the  pageants  of  the  hours 
and  the  seasons  could  be  seen  radiantly  unfolding. 
Behind  the  house,  to  shield  it  from  the  fierce  north 
winds,  towered  groves  of  ancient,  sombre,  dark 
green  spruce  and  fir,  their  high,  serried  tops  popu- 
lous with  crows.  Across  the  front  end  of  the  par- 
sonage ran  a  low  veranda,  and  about  ten  paces 
before  the  veranda  steps  stood  a  lofty,  spire-like, 
blue-green  hackmatack-tree,  whose  feathery  and 
delicate  needles  sighed  to  every  air.  In  a  circle 
around  the  hackmatack  ran  the  red  earth  driveway, 
then  straight  on  for  about  forty  paces  to  the  white 
front  gate,  leading  to  the  road  over  the  hill.  Some 
fifty  or  sixty  paces  below  the  parsonage  gate  this 
road  crossed  the  Wood  Point  road  at  right  angles, 
and  led  away  down  between  pastures  on  the  right 
and  the  high  fences  and  trees  of  Westcock  House  on 
the  left,  till  it  petered  out  to  a  mere  cart-track, 
passed  under  a  set  of  high  bars,  and  wound  away 
over  the  marshes  toward  the  creek-mouth  and  the 
dyke. 

It  wa3  up  this  road  that  Luella  came  in  the  dusk, 
with  the  faint  sound  of  the  church-bell  pulsing  in- 


22  The  Heart  That  Knows 

termittently  on  her  ears.  She  passed  the  bars  with- 
out knowing  whether  she  had  let  them  down  or 
climbed  over.  Mounting  the  slope,  she  was  poign-' 
antly  conscious  of  a  sudden  waft  of  perfume  from 
a  deep  thicket  of  blossoming  lilacs  in  the  back  field 
of  Westcock  House.  The  soft,  melting,  passionate 
fragrance  stabbed  her  like  a  knife-thrust.  It  was 
memory  made  palpable,  of  one  wonderful  night 
when  she  and  Jim  had  sat  for  hours  amid  the 
scented  dark  of  those  trees,  listening  to  the  soft 
roar  of  the  ebb  down  the  channels  of  Tantramar. 
Her  face  twisted,  and  she  half-stumbled.  Then  she 
pressed  on  resolutely  up  the  hill. 

At  the  crossroads  she  halted.  To  reach  her  own 
home,  she  must  turn  to  the  right  along  the  Wood 
Point  road,  pass  the  black  groves  of  Westcock 
House,  with  their  haunted  deeps  of  silence,  skirt  the 
mysterious  gully  of  the  Back  Lot,  descend  the 
water-worn  track  of  Lawrence's  Hill,  and  so  along 
past  Purdy's  shipyard  to  the  corner  store  of  her 
uncle,  old  Abner  Baisley,  on  the  bank  of  the  Frosty 
Hollow  "  Bito."  She  did  not  want  to  go  home.  In 
the  dining-room  window  of  the  parsonage  she  saw 
a  light.  To  her  that  house  stood  for  every  loving- 
kindness,  and  understanding,  and  succour.  She 
wanted  to  feel  the  rector's  hand,  warm  and  strong, 
clasp  hers  for  a  moment.  She  wanted  Mrs.  Good- 
ridge  to  give  her  a  kiss  and  a  vigorous  hug,  and 


The  Wedding  That  Was  Not        23 

murmur  at  the  same  time,  rather  abstractedly, 
"  Well,  dear!  "  Through  all  the  numbness  of  her 
despair  she  was  absurdly  conscious  of  the  sudden, 
disconcerting  way  in  which  the  lady  would  then 
take  notice,  and  exclaim  —  "  But  where's  your  sun- 
bonnet,  Luella?  You'll  catch  your  death  of  cold, 
out  at  night  without  a  thing  on  your  head,  and  the 
dew  falling!"  These  things  went  through  her 
brain,  however,  like  something  she  had  read  of  long 
ago,  concerning  people  who  perhaps  had  never  ex- 
isted at  all.  She  knew  that  the  rector  and  Mrs. 
Goodridge  were  both  away  at  church.  That  piti- 
less, faint  throbbing  of  the  bell  had  stopped  a  few 
moments  before,  —  and  the  rector  was  now  begin- 
ning, "  Dearly  beloved  brethren,  the  Scripture  mov- 
eth  us  in  sundry  places  —  "  Mrs.  Goodridge  was 
in  the  square,  green-lined  rectory  pew,  close  under 
the  pulpit,  and  even  now  turning  to  scan  the  back 
pews  with  her  bright  but  near-sighted  blue  eyes 
and  to  wonder  what  could  be  keeping  Luella  and 
Jim  so  late.  No,  there  was  no  help  at  the  parson- 
age. And  if  her  friends,  dear  and  trusted  as  they 
were,  had  been  at  home,  Luella  knew  that  she  would 
not,  could  not,  have  let  out  her  cry  of  anguish  even 
to  them.  She  would  have  shut  her  teeth  fast,  just 
as  she  was  doing  now,  till  her  jaws  hurt. 

She  realized  now  that  she  had  gone  up  to  the  big 
white   gate   of   the   parsonage,    and    was    staring 


24  The  Heart  That  Knows 

through  it,  her  forehead  pressed  against  the  top 
bar.  What  her  purpose  was,  or  her  desire,  she 
did  not  even  try  to  think.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  done,  but  just  wait,  wait,  wait,  every  hour  an 
eternity,  yet  all  bearing  her  with  fierce,  insidious 
haste  toward  a  calamity  from  which  there  was  no 
escape.  With  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  dim  shape 
of  the  parsonage  veranda,  yet  seeing  nothing,  she 
stood  there  motionless,  she  knew  not  how  long. 
Suddenly  she  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps close  at  her  side,  and,  turning  swiftly,  she 
found  herself  face  to  face  with  Mary  Dugan,  the 
maid  of  all  work  at  the  parsonage. 

Mary  Dugan  threw  up  her  hands  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"Well,  I  never!"  she  cried.  "Be  this  you, 
Luelly  Warden,  or  your  ghost  ?  " 

"  It's  me,  Mary !  "  answered  Luella,  in  a  strained, 
flat  voice. 

"  But,  land's  sakes  alive,  why  ain't  you  down  to 
the  church,  gittin'  married  this  very  minute  ? " 
went  on  Mary,  hopelessly  bewildered. 

"  I  ain't  going  to  get  married,"  muttered  Luella, 
dully,  leaning  her  forehead  once  more  against  the 
top  bar.  Her  hair  had  come  down  again,  and 
seemed  to  make  a  pale  light  in  the  rich  summer 
gloom. 

"  You,   not  git  married  ?     What  d'you  mean  ? 


The  Wedding  That  Was  Not         25 

What's  happened?  Where's  Jim?"  queried  Mary, 
breathlessly. 

"  We  had  a  falling  out.  He's  gone ! "  re- 
sponded Luella,  in  an  even  voice,  as  if  it  was  all 
no  great  matter. 

Mary  Dugan  was  silent  for  a  moment.  She  felt 
herself  in  the  presence  of  a  tragedy,  and  her  simple 
heart  was  moved.  She  had  seen  a  ship  go  out  that 
afternoon,  but  had  not  dreamed  it  was  the  G.  G. 
Goodridge.  She  came  up  close,  and  threw  an  arm 
over  Luella's  shoulder. 

"  That  wa'n't  the  Goodridge  I  seen  goin'  out 
this  afternoon !  "  she  said. 

"It  was!"  replied  Luella. 

"  Poor  dear !  Poor  dear !  "  whispered  Mary, 
awed  by  the  situation,  which  her  experienced  heart 
was  quick  to  apprehend.  "I'd  never  have  thought 
it  of  Jim  Calder.  Of  all  the  Westcock  boys,  he's  the 
last  one  I'd  'a'  thought  it  of ! " 

The  infinite  pity  in  her  voice  smote  Luella's 
slumbering  pride  to  life.  She  shook  off  the  com- 
passionate arm,  and  turned  upon  Mary  with  eyes 
that  flamed  in  the  dark. 

"  I  did  it  myself!  "  she  cried,  thickly.  Her  words 
would  hardly  form  themselves,  and  her  tongue 
tripped.  "  Jim  ain't  to  blame.  It's  every  mite  my 
fault.  I  did  it  myself ! "  Thrusting  Mary  aside, 
she  flung  off  fiercely  down  the  hill,  and  turned  the 


26  The  Heart  That  Knows 

corner  for  home.  In  her  outraged  pride  she  had 
spoken  words  which  sowed  an  ill  seed  of  doubt  in 
even  the  kindly  mind  of  Mary  Dugan.  For  the 
time,  however,  Mary  had  no  thought  save  of  com- 
passion for  the  girl,  and  of  indignation  against  Jim 
Calder. 

"  Poor  babe !  "  she  muttered  to  herself,  looking 
with  pity  after  the  dim  figure  flitting  along  against 
the  black  background  of  the  Westcock  House  firs. 
"  I'm  afeard  she's  been  an'  gone  an'  bit  off  her  nose 
to  spite  her  face!  Lor',  how  Westcock'll  talk! 
Tss!  Tss!  I  wisht  I  knowed  jest  what'd  hap- 
pened !  "  Speculating  on  this  theme  Mary  let  herself 
through  the  gate,  and  strolled  contemplatively  up 
the  drive  between  the  two  rows  of  little,  pointed 
spruce  bushes  which  the  rector  had  just  planted. 
At  the  veranda  steps  she  paused,  sniffed  with  deep 
satisfaction  the  rich  and  soft  night  air,  and  mut- 
tered — "  Lor',  how  sweet  them  laylocks  does 
smell ! "  Then,  remembering  that  the  front  door 
was  locked,  she  went  around  to  the  kitchen  and  let 
herself  in  with  the  big,  back  door  key. 

Meanwhile  Luella  was  speeding  on  past  the 
haunted  groves,  and  down  over  Lawrence's  Hill. 
In  her  sick  rage  at  the  pity  in  Mary  Dugan's  voice, 
she  quite  forgot  that  she  might  be  cruelly  misin- 
terpreted if  she  took  the  blame  upon  herself.  All 
she  thought  of  was  that  she  could  not  and  would 


The  Wedding  That  Was  Not        27 

not  endure  to  be  pitied.  She  felt  that  she  would 
strangle  with  her  bare  hands  any  one  who  should 
say  she  had  been  jilted.  At  the  foot  of  the 
hill  she  paused,  and  stared  for  several  minutes 
along  the  road  to  her  right,  where  a  light  gleamed 
through  an  apple-tree  some  three  or  four  hundred 
yards  away.  That  light  came  from  the  window  of 
Mrs.  Rebecca  Calder,  Jim's  mother ;  and  Luella  said 
to  herself :  "  She's  glad  of  it.  I  know  she  is !  " 
Having  muttered  this  over  several  times,  she 
seemed  to  feel  Mrs.  Calder's  uncompromising  and 
inescapable  eyes  upon  her,  and  grew  suddenly 
aware  once  more  that  her  hair  was  down  about  her 
shoulders.  Hurriedly  she  coiled  it  up  again,  then 
turned  her  steps  resolutely  homeward,  with  the 
rush  of  the  ebb  tide,  as  the  creek  emptied  itself 
tempestuously  into  the  Tantramar,  filling  the  night 
with  soft,  indeterminate  sound. 

When  she  had  come  opposite  Purdy's  shipyard, 
holding  her  eyes  aloof  from  the  spot  where  still 
stood  the  skeleton  poles  and  scaffoldings,  empty  as 
her  life,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  by  this 
time  church  must  be  coming  out.  The  thought 
galvanized  her  into  activity.  She  must  not  meet  any 
one  who  had  been  there,  any  one  who  had  joined 
in  the  buzz  of  wondering  talk  in  the  porch  after 
service.  Above  all,  she  could  not  face  her  Uncle 
Abner  on  his  return.  He  would  be  furious,  and 


28  The  Heart  That  Knows 

insulted.  She  could  see  him  stalking  back,  stiff  in 
his  long  black  broadcloth  coat,  his  raw,  high-fea- 
tured, narrow  face  both  hard  and  weak,  and  his 
thin,  grayish-reddish  side-whiskers  bristling  for- 
ward. She  realized  what  his  petty,  intolerable 
questioning  would  be,  and  how  his  close-set  little 
eyes  would  be  red  around  the  lids  as  they  gimleted 
into  her  soul.  She  must,  oh,  she  must  be  home,  and 
safely  locked  into  her  own  room  over  the  side 
porch,  before  he  arrived.  She  broke  into  a  run, 
now ;  and  only  steadied  down  again  to  a  swift  walk 
when  two  "  hands  "  from  the  shipyard  approached. 
They  gave  her  "  Good  evenin',"  cordially  and  re- 
spectfully, and  turned  to  stare  after  her  in  amaze- 
ment as  she  went  by  them  with  only  an  inarticulate 
sound  in  response  to  their  salutation.  Her  lips  and 
mouth  and  throat  were  as  dry  as  wood.  To  her 
infinite  relief  she  reached  the  "  Bito  "  without  pass- 
ing any  more  wayfarers.  Two  teams  were  hitched 
to  the  fence  beside  the  store,  and  half  a  dozen  men 
and  boys  were  loitering  around  outside,  waiting 
for  Mr.  Baisley  to  return  from  service  and  open  up 
shop  again.  Not  looking  at  any  of  them,  and 
merely  muttering  a  collective  reply  to  their  various 
greetings,  Luella  sped  past  to  the  little  garden  gate, 
up  the  narrow  path,  and  in  through  the  tiny  lattice- 
work porch  at  the  end  of  the  house,  which  was  the 
private  entrance,  and  served  to  keep  the  living- 


The  Wedding  That  Was  Not        29 

rooms  apart  from  the  traffic  of  the  store.  Not 
pausing  to  light  the  lamp,  she  ran  up  the  narrow, 
crooked,  tilted  stairs,  gained  her  slant-roofed  sanc- 
tuary under  the  eaves,  and  locked  herself  in.  Till 
the  morrow,  at  least,  she  was  safe  from  all  torture 
of  tongues. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HER   LOVER   AND    HIS    MOTHER 

A  PRIM,  uncompromising  house  of  two  stories, 
shingled  all  over,  and  weather-beaten  to  a  soft,  dark 
gray,  was  the  dwelling  of  Jim  Calder  and  his 
mother.  In  spite  of  itself,  as  it  were,  it  had  a 
homey,  comfortable  air.  Big  apple-trees,  with  one 
white  birch  and  one  Lombardy  poplar,  stood  at 
either  end  of  it.  Hop-vines  and  scarlet-runner 
beans  grew  all  over  its  fences;  and  the  little  plot 
between  the  stoop  and  the  front  gate,  on  either  side 
of  the  shell-bordered  path,  was  bright  with  pink 
and  purple  sweet  peas,  orange  nasturtiums,  scarlet 
geraniums,  pansies,  and  other  old-fashioned  blooms. 
Everything  connected  with  it  was  aggressively 
clean.  When  Luella,  standing  for  that  brief  mo- 
ment at  the  foot  of  Lawrence's  Hill,  stared  in  numb 
despair  at  the  far-off  light  in  the  back  window  of 
Mrs.  Calder's  house,  she  little  guessed  that  Mrs. 
Calder  was  sitting  by  that  light,  her  austere,  faded 
face  bitter  with  resentment,  as  she  read  and  re-read 
an  incoherent  note  of  farewell  from  Jim.  The 
mother,  lonely  but  self-possessed,  had  expected  to 

30 


Her  Lover  and  His  Mother          31 

hold  her  son  to  her  heart  once  again  that  night,  be- 
fore yielding  him  up  to  a  wife  whom  she  hated,  and 
before  bidding  him  good-bye  for  two  long  years. 
Now  that  her  boy  had  left  her  thus  inexplicably, 
without  a  kiss,  the  mother,  in  her  aching  and  angry 
heart,  laid  all  the  blame  upon  the  girl,  whose  very 
existence  she  had  always  resented.  Over  and  over, 
as  she  sat  there  by  the  little  oil  lamp,  rocking 
fiercely,  the  open  letter  in  her  lap,  she  told  herself 
that  her  boy  would  never  have  gone  off  in  that  mad, 
cruel  fashion,  unless  he  had  found  out  something 
bad  about  Luelly  Warden.  She  knew  Jim's  love 
for  the  girl,  little  as  she  sympathized  with  it.  And 
now,  forgiving  Jim's  treatment  of  herself,  she 
turned  all  her  bitterness  against  the  unhappy 
Luella.  Hour  after  hour  she  sat  rocking  beside  the 
lamp,  holding  the  letter  clutched  in  her  worn,  big- 
knuckled  fingers,  listening  to  the  moaning  rush 
of  the  ebb  as  it  fled  seaward  within  a  furlong  of 
her  doors,  and  picturing  to  herself  the  flight  of  the 
G.  G.  Goodridge  under  the  starlit  night.  When  the 
first  of  the  dawn,  spreading  over  Tantramar,  be- 
gan to  pale  the  little  yellow  flame  of  her  lamp,  she 
got  up  briskly,  pressed  out  the  crumpled  paper  with 
care,  folded  it  away  under  some  lace  kerchiefs  and 
Sunday  bows  in  her  top  bureau  drawer,  turned  out 
the  light,  and  muttered  inaudibly  a  harsh  impreca- 
tion upon  the  girl.  Then,  methodically  removing 


32  The  Heart  That  Knows 

her  neckerchief,  her  stout  shoes,  and  the  stiff  black 
silk  dress  which  she  had  put  on  in  Jim's  honour,  she 
threw  herself  down  on  the  bed  without  undressing. 
Such  an  irregularity  was,  for  her,  a  mark  of  the 
gravest  emotional  disturbance.  So  bitter  was  her 
heart  in  its  loneliness  and  resentment  that  if  she 
could  have  seen  Luella  at  that  hour,  white-lipped 
and  dry-eyed  with  anguish,  lying  with  her  face  to 
the  wall  in  the  little  room  overlooking  the  "  Bito," 
she  would  have  exulted  in  every  fibre  over  the  girl's 
voiceless  despair. 

It  was  just  two  years  ago  that  very  night  that 
Jim  Calder,  then  a  sturdy  and  tan-faced  stripling 
of  eighteen,  lately  home  from  a  voyage  to  the  West 
Indies,  had  brought  Luella  to  his  mother  in  a  glow 
of  triumph  and  announced  their  betrothal.  Never 
till  that  moment  had  Mrs.  Calder  had  aught  but 
good-will  for  Luella.  She  knew  her  to  be  modest, 
well-mannered,  self-respecting,  and  of  good  coun- 
tryside stock,  her  father  having  been  owner  and 
captain  of  a  two-topmast  schooner  which  traded 
profitably  between  the  Fundy  ports  and  Boston. 
Now,  however,  she  saw  in  this  seventeen-year-old 
girl,  with  her  tall,  straight,  vigorous  form,  her  mane 
of  burnished  flax,  like  cool,  pale  gold,  her  steady, 
grave,  porcelain-blue  eyes  under  deep  brows,  her 
broad  forehead  and  clean-cut  features  of  a  fairness 
which  all  the  marsh-winds  and  unshadowed  suns 


Her  Lover  and  His  Mother          33 

could  but  touch  to  cream,  her  somewhat  large  and 
very  red  mouth  under  whose  childishness  was  al- 
ready beginning  to  show  a  suggestion  of  womanly 
strength,  tenderness,  and  passion,  —  in  this  girl 
she  saw  a  crafty  woman,  who  had  succeeded  in  en- 
snaring her  boy.  She  looked  slowly  from  Luella  to 
Jim.  She  studied  his  frank,  young  face,  with  its 
wholesome,  ruddy  tan,  the  mouth  ardent  and  posi- 
tive, the  eyes  of  light  hazel,  honest,  fearless,  kind, 
—  the  hair  a  dark  warm  brown,  thick,  elastic,  half- 
curling,  and  short.  She  eyed  his  straight  figure, 
broad  in  the  shoulder,  narrow  in  the  hips,  of  middle 
stature,  and  suggesting  both  strength  and  alertness. 
A  hot  flush  of  resentment  went  over  her,  at  the 
thought  that  another  woman  should  supersede  her, 
by  ever  so  little,  in  the  heart  of  her  beautiful  son. 
She  thought,  however,  that  this  emotion  was  only 
a  proper  anger  against  a  designing  woman,  who 
had  taken  advantage  of  a  boy's  ignorance.  She 
looked  Luella  straight  in  the  eyes,  and  said,  coldly : 

"  I  reckon  Jim's  a  leetle  young1  to  be  thinking 
about  a  wife.  He's  a  leetle  mite  young,  too,  maybe, 
to  be  knowing  his  own  mind." 

Jim  stared  at  her  in  amazement  so  deep  that 
there  was,  at  first,  no  room  for  indignation;  but 
Luella  flushed  up  to  the  roots  of  her  fair  hair.  At 
first  her  lips  quivered  childishly,  and  her  blue  eyes 
filled.  Then  the  underlying  strength  of  her  nature 


34  The  Heart  That  Knows 

asserted  itself.  Her  mouth  steadied,  and  her  eyes 
steadied  as  they  answered  gravely  the  elder  wom- 
an's challenge.  She  was  about  to  make  a  severe 
retort,  when  a  swift  glance  at  Jim's  face  showed 
her  that  some  sort  of  storm  was  rising  through  his 
confusion,  and  about  to  break  in  words  which  his 
mother  might  find  it  hard  to  forget.  With  an  in- 
spiration of  wisdom  beyond  her  years  she  inter- 
vened. 

"  I'm  so  sorry  you  are  not  pleased,  Mrs  Cal- 
der,"  she  said,  modestly.  "  But  indeed,  I'll  try  to 
please  you  and  make  you  like  me.  I  can't  help 
loving  Jim." 

Mrs.  Calder,  too,  had  noted  the  danger-signal  in 
the  boy's  face,  and  fearless  though  she  was,  she 
heeded  it.  Moreover,  she  felt  suddenly  ashamed  of 
herself,  and  reproachful  for  having  driven  the  joy 
from  Jim's  face.  She  held  out  her  hand,  and  forced 
a  smile  of  frosty  welcome  to  her  austere  lips. 

"  Forgive  my  ugliness,  Luelly !  "  she  said.  "  An' 
you,  too,  Jim.  I  was  right  ugly  to  talk  that  way, 
an'  you  two  young  things  so  happy !  " 

Luella  accepted  the  proffered  hand  warmly,  with 
secret  triumph.  But  Jim  was  not  yet  conciliated. 

"  If  you've  got  anything  to  say  agin  Luella, 
mother,  out  with  it,  right  now !  "  he  demanded,  with 
a  little  stumbling  in  his  speech  from  the  stress  of 
his  wrath.  "  I  know  my  own  mind  'bout  as  well 


Her  Lover  and  His  Mother         35 

as  most  folks,  I  reckon.  An'  I'm  goin'  to  marry 
Luella  the  day  I  get  to  be  mate." 

"  No,  Jim,  I  hain't  a  word  to  say  agin  Luella,  — 
not  a  word,"  his  mother  hastened  to  protest.  "  So 
far's  I  know,  ther'  ain't  a  finer  nor  a  cleverer  girl 
in  Westcock  parish.  I  reckon  I  was  jest  ugly." 
And  she  held  out  a  deprecating  hand  to  Jim. 

The  boy  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  a  moment, 
then  at  Luella's  serene  face.  The  anger  died  from 
his  mouth  and  eyes  as  a  cloud  melts  suddenly  to  let 
the  sun  shine  through,  and  stepping  forward  impet- 
uously, he  flung  his  arms  about  his  mother's  un- 
bending shoulders.  As  he  kissed  her  she  thrust  her 
hands  into  his  thick,  warm  hair  and  squeezed  his 
head  against  her  cheek. 

"  Ye'll  have  to  be  powerful  good  to  Jim,  Luella," 
she  said,  with  an  attempt  at  graciousness.  "  He's 
awful  tender-hearted,  but  he's  got  a  leetle  mite  of 
his  old  mother's  ugly  temper.  Ye'll  have  to  be  nice 
to  him,  child !  " 

Not  knowing  just  what  she  had  better  reply  to 
this,  Luella  smiled  her  assent,  and  tied  superfluous 
knots  in  the  strings  of  the  sunbonnet  which  hung 
back  from  her  firm  white  throat.  Jim,  however,  was 
hugely  relieved,  —  rejoicing  more  at  the  clearing 
of  the  storm  than  he  could  have  rejoiced  had  there 
been  no  storm  to  clear.  Seizing  the  two  women, 
one  in  each  arm,  he  drew  them  close  to  him  and  to 


36  The  Heart  That  Knows 

each  other,  kissed  them  both  laughingly  on  the 
neck,  and  cried,  "  Oh,  I  know  you  two' re  goin'  to 
git  to  likin'  each  other  such  a  lot,  my  nose'll  be  out 
of  joint  with  both  of  you  before  I  git  back  from  my 
next  voyage." 

This  sanguine  dream  of  his,  however,  was  far 
from  corning  true. 

For  a  long  time  both  women  tried  honestly 
enough  to  like  each  other.  But  Luella,  finding  it 
impossible  to  quite  believe  in  the  elder  woman's 
good-will,  was  ever  ready  to  suspect  covert  cen- 
sure, to  interpret  the  blunders  of  a  self-centred 
and  crude  nature  as  intentional  slight.  Mrs.  Cal- 
der,  on  her  part,  made  what  she  really  believed  to 
be  a  sincere  attempt  to  discover  that  charm  and 
goodness  in  the  girl  which  Jim  found  in  her  so 
abundantly.  At  every  such  attempt,  however,  she 
would  stumble  upon  something  which,  to  her  hope- 
lessly prejudiced  eyes,  was  evidence  of  the  girl's 
scheming  craft.  There  was  little  that  she  could  not 
so  twist,  in  the  unhappy  perversity  of  her  vision. 
And  thus,  in  her  own  teeth,  as  it  were,  she  forced 
herself  to  the  unalterable  conviction  that  Luella  was 
unworthy.  She  had  tried  her  best,  she  believed. 
And  being  in  very  truth  a  woman  of  conscientious 
scruple,  most  unwilling  to  be  caught  at  any  time 
beyond  shelter  of  her  own  self-commendation,  she 
honestly  grieved  over  what  she  called  Jim's  infat- 


Her  Lover  and  His  Mother          37 

uation,  and  professed  to  bewail  Luella's  unworth. 
Against  this  attitude  Luella  could  not  long  contend. 
When  she  came  to  realize  it  fully,  she  broke  down 
in  girlish  anger  and  misery,  wildly  resentful  of  an 
injustice  which  she  had  no  power  or  experience  to 
resist.  Pride  came  presently  to  her  rescue,  how- 
ever, with  a  certain  poise  and  reticence  which  acted 
upon  the  elder  woman  like  a  cutting  retort ;  and  be- 
fore Jim  had  been  three  months  away  his  mother 
and  his  sweetheart  were  passing  each  other,  at 
church  or  on  the  country  road,  without  so  much  as 
a  glance  of  recognition. 

In  all  this  Luella  had  Westcock  on  her  side, 
which  was  a  continual  balm  to  her  injured  heart. 
Every  one  knew  that  she  was  the  victim  of  the  bit- 
ter jealousy  of  a  mother,  —  and  of  a  very  unrea- 
soning mother.  Luella  was  not  exactly  popular,  — 
she  was  too  reserved  and  too  distinguished-looking 
for  that;  but  she  was  highly  thought  of.  On  the 
other  hand,  all  the  village  knew  that  Mrs.  Calder 
was  "  hard  to  get  along  with,"  besides  being  always 
critical  in  her  attitude  toward  everything  and 
every  one  not  cut  precisely  to  her  own  pattern.  To 
be  sure,  Jim  was  not  cut  to  her  pattern,  but  rather 
to  the  very  unlike  and  very  winning  one  of  his  long- 
dead  father.  Folk  said  that  his  mother  forgave 
him  that,  because  she  realized  she  had  done  the 
cutting  herself  and  could  see  no  flaw  in  her  own 


38  The  Heart  That  Knows 

handiwork.  When  Mary  Dugan,  at  the  sewing- 
circle,  declared  that  if  Jim  had  picked  an  angel  out 
of  heaven,  Mrs.  Calder  would  have  thought  her  a 
Delilah,  all  Westcock  said,  "That's  so!"  And 
many  were  the  benevolent  efforts  made  to  egg 
Luella  on  to  a  proper  system  of  retaliatory  back- 
biting, in  the  interests  of  general  conversation. 
But  Luella  was  wise  enough  to  entrench  herself  in 
silence,  and  in  thoughts  of  Jim. 

This  self-control  on  the  part  of  a  mere  child  like 
Luella  passed  with  most  of  the  good  Westcock 
folk  as  overmeekness,  a  lack  of  proper  spirit.  But 
in  the  eyes  of  the  rector,  who  saw  the  steadfast 
stuff  that  went  to  her  make-up,  she  found  the  fullest 
understanding.  He  said  not  a  word  to  her  on  the 
subject;  but  his  kind,  comprehending  glance  over 
and  over  again  came  to  her  reassurance  when  her 
courage  was  near  breaking.  There  was  something 
in  that  look  which  always  made  her  not  only 
stronger,  but  more  tolerant  and  forgiving,  and  con- 
vinced her  that  things  would  all  come  right  in  the 
end.  Once  or  twice,  having  a  faith  that  he  could 
straighten  out  any  difficulty,  she  thought  of  beg- 
ging him  to  say  a  word  to  Mrs.  Calder.  But  she 
reminded  herself  that  this  would  be  a  presumption 
on  her  part,  and  with  a  flush  of  shame  she  forbore. 
It  was  clear  that  the  rector  knew,  and  therefore 
would  speak  if  he  thought  best. 


Her  Lover  and  His  Mother          39 

Being  a  shrewd  as  well  as  a  tender  watcher  of 
the  human  heart,  the  rector  did  not  think  best  to 
speak  to  Mrs.  Calder  about  Luella.  He  was  apt  to 
be  impatient  of  self-righteousness  beyond  other 
sins;  and  he  thought  Mrs.  Calder  self-righteous. 
Moreover,  she  was  not  of  his  flock,  though  Jim 
was.  She  was  an  old-school  Presbyterian,  who  had 
joined  the  Calvinist  Baptists  because  there  were  no 
other  Presbyterians  in  the  Tantramar  country. 
She  yielded  the  rector  a  rather  grudging  respect, 
but  at  the  same  time  strongly  disapproved  of  his 
lack  of  harshness  toward  sinners.  She  openly 
charged  him  with  a  readiness  to  believe  that  almost 
any  sinner,  if  not  all  sinners,  might  achieve  salva- 
tion, —  a  belief  which,  in  her  eyes,  was  nothing 
less  than  a  damnable  and  damning  heresy.  Know- 
ing that  she  held  this  attitude  toward  him,  the 
rector  felt  that  it  would  only  make  matters  worse  if 
he  should  attempt  to  soften  her  toward  Luella.  He 
read  accurately  the  set  of  that  long  jaw  and  posi- 
tive, long,  uncompromising  upper  lip.  Therefore 
he  contented  himself  with  being  very  kind  and  cor- 
dial toward  her,  and  sympathizing  with  all  her 
'ittle  troubles,  in.  the  hope  of  ultimately  softening 
ler  heart  with  the  warmth  of  his  own  great-hearted, 
patient  humanity. 

When  Jim  came  home  again,  some  six  months 
after  his  betrothal  to  Luella,  he  was  at  first  furious, 


40  The  Heart  That  Knows 

then  desperately  distressed  over  the  situation.  De- 
voted though  he  was  to  his  mother,  he  understood 
her  peculiarities;  and  it  needed  only  her  own  state- 
ment of  her  case  to  convince  him  how  hopelessly 
she  was  in  the  wrong.  Luella,  on  the  other  hand, 
refrained  from  justifying  herself  to  him  —  and  had 
the  reward  of  seeing  herself  justified  in  his  eyes 
without  a  word.  Thereafter,  he  adopted  the  rec- 
tor's tactics  of  strict  non-interference,  on  the  as- 
sumption that  if  time  and  patience  could  not  soften 
his  mother's  heart,  nothing  could.  He  resumed  his 
wonted,  irresistible  sunniness,  acted  as  if  nothing 
was  the  matter,  and  managed  to  keep  not  only 
Luella  but  his  mother  as  well  in  a  state  of  equa- 
nimity throughout  his  visit 


CHAPTER   V. 

WHAT    MELISSA    WANTED 

DURING  the  next  eighteen  months,  —  from  the 
hour  when  she  saw  that  Jim  understood  her  and 
trusted  her  in  the  trouble  with  his  mother,  to  the 
day  when  the  G.  G.  Goodridge  went  out  on  the 
yellow  tide,  —  Luella  was  happy.  Mrs.  Calder's 
animosity,  acquiring  some  discretion,  held  itself  in 
abeyance,  —  a  truce,  not  a  peace.  Jim  made  only 
short  voyages,  —  none  farther  than  to  Key  West 
or  Havana  or  Matanzas,  —  and  managed  to  spend 
a  good  half  his  time  ashore,  feverishly  studying 
navigation  in  order  to  pass  his  examinations  for 
mate's  certificate.  While  he  was  at  home  Luella 
had  nothing  more  to  desire,  and  their  little  world, 
for  the  most  part,  looked  kindly  upon  their  young 
content.  Both  sang  in  the  choir  of  the  parish 
church ;  and  on  those  evenings,  once  a  week,  when 
the  rector  would  give  up  a  couple  of  hours  to  the 
task  of  helping  Jim  through  the  mysteries  of  lati- 
tude and  longitude,  right  ascension  and  circle-sail- 
ing, Mrs.  Goodridge  would  always  invite  Luella 
up  to  tea.  The  walk  home  from  the  parsonage, 

4» 


42  The  Heart  That  Knows 

through  the  quiet  Westcock  night,  with  never  a 
sound  but  the  soft  rush  of  the  tide  on  Tantramar, 
seemed  always  a  little  more  wonderful  than  any 
of  the  other  walks  they  took  together.  Their  hopes 
were  gay  with  all  the  colours  that  youth,  and  the 
wide  imaginations  of  their  seafaring  kind,  could 
create;  and  fulfilment  seemed  very  near. 

During  Jim's  absences,  Luella's  time  was  well 
filled  by  her  duties  as  housekeeper  to  her  Uncle 
Abner,  and  by  her  devoted  attendance  on  the 
church  and  the  parsonage.  Being  the  betrothed 
of  Jim  Calder,  she  received  no  attentions  from  any 
of  the  other  young  men  of  the  village,  except,  once 
in  awhile,  from  her  scapegrace  cousin,  the  ne'er- 
do-well  shad-fisherman,  Bud  Whalley.  From  their 
smallest  childhood  Bud  had  been  like  a  brother  to 
her;  and  she  loved  him  all  the  more  resolutely  be- 
cause, as  he  grew  up  to  a  reckless  and  irresponsible 
manhood,  Westcock  turned  the  cold  shoulder  upon 
him.  He  drank  disastrously,  at  times.  He  loafed 
shamelessly  all  the  time,  except  when  the  shad  were 
running.  He  openly  jeered  at  Westcock  opinion. 
So  Westcock  said  he  was  a  reprobate,  and  drew 
its  skirts  aside  as  he  passed.  He  had  no  friends  in 
the  village  but  Luella,  who  tried  in  vain  to  reform 
him,  and  the  rector,  who  believed  there  was  a  lot 
of  good  in  him  which  he  would  some  day  manage 
to  get  at.  Bud  would  sometimes  go  to  church,  sit- 


What  Melissa  Wanted  43 

ting  like  a  pariah  in  a  dark  seat  under  the  gallery. 
And  sometimes,  to  the  scandal  of  the  congregation, 
Luella  would  let  him  walk  home  with  her  after- 
ward. When  Jim  was  home,  Bud  sometimes  went 
walking  with  him  and  Luella  together,  for  Jim 
was  determined  to  be  friendly  to  any  relation  of 
Luella's,  and  had  amiable  designs  for  Bud's  future. 
And  Bud  rewarded  Luella's  loyalty  with  a  reverent 
devotion  which  was  altogether  the  best  thing  in 
his  futile  life. 

Abner  Baisley's  house,  the  wide-roofed,  story- 
and-a-half,  white  cottage  overlooking  the  "  Bito," 
was  a  large  domain  for  Luella  to  rule  unaided. 
But  with  the  store  portion,  —  which  consisted  of 
a  large,  square  room,  smelling  of  molasses,  fish, 
and  kerosene,  and  a  little,  dark  back  room  subtly 
scented  with  tobacco  and  West  Indies  rum,  —  she 
had  nothing  whatever  to  do.  Her  uncle  and  the 
chore-boy  attended  to  that  part  of  the  establish- 
ment. The  rest  —  the  house  proper  —  Luella 
cared  for  with  no  help  but  that  of  a  scrub-woman 
at  the  seasons  of  spring  and  fall  house-cleaning. 
She  was  housemaid,  cook,  and  housekeeper,  all  at 
the  same  time;  and  having  a  talent  for  method 
combined  with  a  calm,  unwasteful  energy,  she  could 
find  time  to  live  a  little,  and  think  a  little,  outside 
the  rut  of  her  daily  task.  Her  chintz-decked  bed- 
room under  the  eaves,  and  the  cosy,  though  chit- 


44  The  Heart  That  Knows 

tered,  sitting-room,  with  its  outlook  upon  the 
changeful  channel  of  the  creek,  showed  that  her 
natural  love  of  beauty  had  profited  by  her  inti- 
macy at  the  parsonage.  The  sleek,  flashy-framed 
chromos  and  the  gaudy  green  and  magenta  carpet 
in  the  sitting-room  she  could  not  change,  for  her 
Uncle  Abner  delighted  in  both.  But  in  spite  of 
them  she  managed,  somehow,  to  make  the  room 
look  pretty  and  fit,  so  that  it  drew  frequent  com- 
pliments not  from  the  rector  only,  but  even  from 
Mrs.  Goodridge,  who  was  much  harder  to  please. 
Through  spring,  summer,  and  fall  both  the  sitting- 
room  and  her  own  bedroom  were  kept  bright  with 
all  blooms  of  the  season,  for  the  steep-sloped,  nar- 
row garden,  which  seemed  likely  at  any  time  to 
slide  down  into  the  vast,  red,  seething  basin  of  the 
"  Bito,"  rewarded  richly  the  pains  she  put  upon  it. 
It  had  the  earliest  blossoms  of  the  year,  and  the 
latest.  She  was  a  skilful  gardener,  and  under  her 
grave  but  cunning  cajolery  the  chore-boy,  Andy,  be- 
came almost  as  interested  in  the  garden  as  she  was 
herself.  In  fact,  even  her  Uncle  Abner,  who  would 
rather  have  seen  the  patch  blue-green  with  cabbages 
for  the  store,  became  reconciled  to  its  beauty  at 
last,  and  ceased  to  grumble.  It  was  worth  quite 
a  number  of  cabbages  to  him,  to  have  people  talk- 
ing about  his  garden.  Many,  indeed,  driving 
through  from  Wood  Point  to  Sackville,  would  stop 


What  Melissa  Wanted  45 

their  horses  to  look  at  the  steep  glory  of  bloom  and 
green,  and  end  by  coming  into  the  store  to  buy 
something.  Above  all,  the  garden  became  a  pride 
to  Mr.  Baisley,  when,  every  Sunday  at  church,  he 
could  look  at  the  fresh  flowers  on  the  altar  and 
remember  that  they  were  his.  There  was  no  other 
garden  in  the  parish  to  be  depended  upon  but 
Luella's,  so  the  rector  fell  into  the  way  of  leaving 
the  matter  of  the  flowers  altogether  to  her. 

No  one  in  Westcock  begrudged  Luella  this  un- 
profitable honour,  except  Melissa  Britton.  Melissa, 
at  last,  as  she  contemplated  the  abundant  blooms 
every  Sunday  from  her  place  in  the  choir,  came 
to  remember  that  she  had  a  garden  of  her  own. 
As  it  stood,  to  be  sure,  it  was  not  much  of  a  garden ; 
but  she  bethought  herself  that  she  had  both  the 
money  and  the  intelligence  to  make  it  something 
that  would  far  outshine  Luella's.  Melissa  had  not 
a  spark  of  cheap  envy  in  her  make-up.  If  she  had 
not  got  the  idea  into  her  cool  and  clever  head  that 
it  would  really  interest  her  to  attend  to  the  decora- 
tions of  chancel  and  pulpit  every  Sunday,  —  that 
it  would  be  a  delight  to  grow  such  lilies,  roses, 
pinks,  stocks,  gladioli,  dahlias,  and  then  contem- 
plate her  handiwork  enshrined,  Luella  might  have 
had  all  the  honour,  and  welcome.  But  with  Melissa, 
to  want  a  thing  was  to  set  about  making  ready  to 
get  it.  She  developed  a  sudden  enthusiasm  for 


46  The  Heart  That  Knows 

Luella's  garden.  She  cultivated  Luella,  to  learn 
how  Luella  cultivated  flowers.  Then  she  sent 
away  to  Boston  for  several  books  on  horticulture, 
and  to  the  great  advertising  seedsmen  and  florists 
for  their  catalogues.  Work  was  begun  at  once  on 
her  own  neglected  plot,  which  she  astonished  with 
such  profusion  of  fertilizers  as  warmed  it  to  its 
impoverished  heart.  And  for  several  months  her 
imagination  was  filled  with  the  glowing  colour- 
plates  of  her  catalogues,  her  memory  with  an  en- 
trancing confusion  of  unknown  names,  mostly 
Latin. 

The  scheme,  which  no  one  but  Melissa  for  a 
single  moment  suspected,  was  making  fine  progress, 
when  one  Sunday  morning  in  church  Jim  Calder's 
confident  baritone,  exulting  through  the  Te  Deum, 
caught  her  ear. 

In  an  indifferent  way,  Melissa  had  always  recog- 
nized that  Jim  had  a  good  voice.  The  rector  said 
so,  and  he  knew.  But  to-day,  for  the  first  time,  she 
felt  the  virile  beauty  of  it,  and  its  vibration  started 
a  strange  thrill  in  her  nerves  and  veins.  She  looked 
at  him  with  an  absolutely  new  interest,  an  un- 
wonted brightness  and  depth  of  colour  coming  into 
her  eyes.  Jim  was  just  home  from  a  two  months' 
voyage  to  the  West  Indies.  Melissa,  hitherto,  had 
seen  him  without  differentiating  him,  so  to  speak. 
She  was  amazed,  now,  at  his  beauty.  All  at  once 


What  Melissa  Wanted  47 

he  had  matured.  His  boyish  mouth  had  gained 
mastery.  His  face  of  ruddy  tan  was  adorned  by 
a  soft  little  golden  brown  moustache.  His  clear, 
greenish  hazel  eyes,  dancing  and  fearless,  met 
Melissa's  and  held  them  for  a  moment,  and  Melissa 
tingled  from  her  forehead  to  her  toes. 

From  that  moment  Melissa's  interest  in  her  gar- 
den and  her  seed  catalogues  entered  upon  a  rapid 
decline.  She  no  longer  wanted  to  relieve  Luella 
of  the  duty  of  supplying  the  church  with  flowers. 
Luella  had  something  else,  in  Melissa's  eyes  better 
worth  appropriating. 

Melissa  knew  very  well,  of  course,  about  Jim's 
engagement  to  Luella,  but  that  knowledge  troubled 
her  little.  Her  confidence  in  her  own  resources 
had  never  been  shaken.  She  was  troubled  rather 
more,  however,  by  the  knowledge  presently  thrust 
upon  her,  that  Jim,  who  sat  directly  opposite  her 
in  the  little  choir,  was  obviously  unconscious  of 
her  presence.  After  church  she  went  around,  as 
was  usual  now,  to  see  Luella's  garden,  and  found 
an  opportunity  to  compliment  Jim,  with  careless 
frankness,  on  his  voice,  his  colour,  and  his  newly 
achieved  moustache.  Jim  was  cordial,  in  his  happy 
fashion,  and  appreciative  of  her  compliments, 
which  gained  by  a  certain  judicial  air  with  which 
she  conveyed  them.  Two  or  three  discreet  experi- 
ments, however,  —  so  discreet  that  not  even  Lu- 


48  The  Heart  That  Knows 

ella's  feminine  vigilance  took  alarm,  —  convinced 
her  that  Luella  had  the  young  sailor  absolutely  at 
her  feet.  Melissa  saw  that  she  would  need  all  her 
wits  in  this  enterprise.  She  set  herself  to  consider, 
at  the  same  time  taking  care  that  Jim  should  hap- 
pen to  see  her  so  often  that  he  could  not  quite  for- 
get her  existence.  Out  of  this  considering  came  a 
gradual,  unobtrusive  friendliness,  which  flattered 
Jim  while  it  troubled  no  one,  not  even  Luella. 
Then,  by  a  master-stroke  of  ingenuity,  she  made 
the  unsuspicious  Luella  her  ally  against  herself. 
She  frankly  and  laughingly  challenged  Luella  to 
a  contest  of  flowers,  vowing  that  her  little  garden 
on  the  high  shoulder  of  Wood  Point  should  utterly 
eclipse  the  steep  close  of  bloom  overlooking  the 
"  Bito."  She  got  Luella  so  interested  in  this  con- 
test that  she  was  for  ever  talking  to  Jim  about  it, 
—  and  about  Melissa.  Thus  it  was  Luella  herself, 
more  than  any  one  or  anything  else,  that  gave 
Melissa  Britton  her  first  importance  in  Jim's  eyes. 
When,  at  last,  Melissa  announced  her  sudden 
resolve  to  go  sailing  around  the  world  with  her 
father  on  his  next  voyage,  of  course  this  stimu- 
lating rivalry  in  gardens  came  to  an  end ;  but  it  had 
accomplished  its  purpose.  Melissa  was  an  ac- 
knowledged friend  and  well-wisher  of  both  Jim 
and  Luella.  It  was  not  till  some  months  later  that 
Captain  Britton  took  command  of  the  new  barquen- 


What  Melissa  Wanted  49 

tine,  the  G.  G.  Goodridge,  and  gave  Jim  the  berth 
of  second  mate  aboard  her.  In  this  Melissa's  hand 
did  not  appear;  and  there  was  nothing  extraordi- 
nary in  it,  anyhow.  Every  one  in  Westcock  knew 
that  the  rector  was  deeply  interested  in  the  ship 
which  bore  his  name.  Every  one  knew,  also,  that 
he  was  deeply  interested  in  Jim  Calder.  What 
more  natural  than  that  Captain  Britton,  who  loved 
the  rector,  should  please  him  in  the  appointment 
of  his  second  mate?  Melissa  was  far  too  wise  to 
let  even  Jim  know  that  she  had  had  a  hand  in  the 
business.  She  was  pleasantly  surprised  at  the  news ; 
but  not  a  shade  more  cordial  about  it  than  good 
compliment  required. 

So  far,  all  was  going  well  with  Melissa's  pur- 
pose. A  weaker  girl,  however,  would  have  realized 
with  dismay  that  in  furthering  Jim  Calder's  ad- 
vancement she  was  hastening  the  hour  of  his  mar- 
riage. Westcock  had  known  for  a  year  that  the 
wedding  was  to  take  place  "  when  Jim  gits  to  be 
mate."  But  Melissa  would  not  let  impatience  or 
oversolicitude  force  her  hand.  She  had  a  faith 
that  fate,  as  usual,  would  furnish  her  occasion  in 
good  time.  If  she  could  not  prevent  the  marriage 
without  betraying  herself,  —  well,  it  would  not  be 
prevented.  Jim  would  have  to  leave  Luella  in  St. 
John,  a  few  days  after  the  wedding,  —  not  to  see 
her  again  for  perhaps  two  years.  In  those  two 


50  The  Heart  That  Knows 

years  would  lie  her  opportunity.  It  would  be 
strange  thing,  she  thought,  setting  her  mouth  hard, 
if,  with  two  years  of  unlimited  opportunity,  she 
could  not  triumph  over  a  girl  like  Luella  Warden! 


CHAPTER   VI. 
MELISSA'S  MASTER  -  STROKE 

ABOUT  two  weeks  before  the  G.  G.  Goodridge 
was  to  sail,  however,  Fate  quite  came  up  to 
Melissa's  expectations,  and  played  most  com- 
placently into  her  hands.  Bud  Whalley,  coming 
out  to  the  G.  G.  Goodridge  one  day  when  Melissa 
was  on  board  decorating  her  cabin,  served  as  fate's 
instrument.  He  had  brought  a  half-barrel  of  "  No. 
i  Extra  "  salt  Chignecto  shad  for  the  use  of  the 
captain's  cabin;  and  he  was  in  the  genial  humour 
of  the  three-quarters  drunk.  Stepping  backwards 
to  shout  to  a  friend  aloft  in  the  rigging,  he  fell 
into  the  open  hold,  broke  his  back  across  the  edge 
of  a  balk,  and  died  within  fifteen  minutes. 

Time  and  again  had  Melissa  held  Bud  Whalley 
under  the  scrutiny  of  her  clear,  pale  eyes,  hoping  to 
detect  in  him  some  clue  by  which  to  solve  her  main 
problem.  She  knew,  of  course,  the  wild  young 
fisherman's  devotion  to  his  cousin.  And  like  every 
one  else  in  Westcock,  she  was  aware  of  Luella's 
affection  for  him,  in  spite  of  all  his  wildness.  But 

Si 


52  The  Heart  That  Knows 

she  was  a  shrewd  reader  of  hearts,  this  country 
girl,  and  she  saw  that  nothing  could  make  Bud 
Whalley  a  traitor  to  the  one  human  being  who 
stood  by  him  through  thick  and  thin.  Alive,  no 
one  could  use  this  harebrained  but  chivalrous  ad- 
venturer of  the  tides.  But  dead,  —  however  his 
impetuous  spirit  may  have  raged  to  see  it,  he  was 
a  tool  in  Melissa's  little  unrelenting  hands. 

Several  times  already  Melissa  had  dropped  the 
germs  of  doubt  into  Jim's  mind,  but  so  delicately 
that  Jim  had  never  dreamed  himself  infected.  She 
did  not  know,  at  the  time,  that  they  would  ever 
spring  to  life  and  do  her  service;  but,  so  long  as 
she  was  not  suspected  of  planting  them,  it  was  well 
they  should  be  there  ready.  Now,  Luella's  unre- 
strained sorrow  over  her  cousin's  death  gave 
Melissa  another  chance  to  sow  her  ill  seeds.  She 
gratified  Jim  by  calling  every  one's  attention  to 
Luella's  warmth  of  heart  and  cousinly  devotion. 

From  that  day  on,  however,  her  attitude  toward 
Luella  changed  subtly.  She  managed  so  skilfully 
as  to  show  the  change  to  Jim  more  than  to  Luella 
herself,  and  the  latter  hardly  noticed  it.  But  Jim 
could  not  help  noticing  it,  and  wondering  about 
it,  and  worrying  over  it ;  till  at  last  he  openly  taxed 
Melissa  with  it.  The  girl  gazed  at  him  steadily 
for  some  seconds,  with  deep  eyes  of  compassion, 
and  opened  trembling  lips  to  reply.  All  she  could 


Melissa's  Master-stroke  53 

say,  however,  was  only  "  Oh,  Jim!  "  But  her  voice 
made  it  sound  like,  "Oh,  my  poor,  poor  Jim!" 
Then,  as  if  words  choked  her,  she  threw  her  hands 
apart,  and  turned,  and  ran  from  him,  leaving  him 
half-sick  with  a  sense  of  imminent  calamity.  For 
the  next  few  days,  on  ship  or  ashore,  she  evaded 
his  persistent  efforts  to  have  speech  with  her,  till 
his  vague  apprehensions  became  a  torture.  Never- 
theless, he  had  no  faintest  suspicion  of  anything  to 
Luella's  discredit,  but  merely  could  not  endure  that 
the  woman  whom  he  loved  as  his  own  life  should 
be  misunderstood  by  the  woman  whom  he  counted 
his  best  friend.  He  simply  would  not  have  it. 
Melissa  must  "  act  right "  toward  Luella,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  Luella,  in  her  innocence  of  heart 
and  her  satisfaction  with  life  and  love,  was  troub- 
ling herself  not  at  all  as  to  Melissa  Britton's 
whims. 

At  last,  the  very  morning  before  the  day  set  for 
the  wedding,  Melissa  cleverly  allowed  herself  to 
be  caught.  Jim  planted  himself  squarely  before 
her,  in  triumph,  and  lost  no  time  beating  about  the 
bush. 

"  What  is  it  now,  Melissy,"  he  blurted  out,  "  you 
think  you've  got  against  Luella?  " 

Melissa  dropped  her  eyes,  and  tried  to  get  past 
him.  Jim  caught  her  by  both  arms  and  held  her 
fast.  She  thrilled  from  head  to  foot  under  the 


54  The  Heart  That  Knows 

hard  grip  of  his  hands,  and  from  beneath  her 
drooped  lids  her  eyes  feasted  on  their  strength. 
But  she  pretended  to  be  angry. 

"  Let  me  go,  right  off,  Jim  Calder  1 "  she  com- 
manded, striving  to  twist  away. 

"  You've  got  to  tell  me,  Melissy !  "  he  demanded, 
half-resolute,  half-pleading. 

"  I  won't  tell  you,  so  there !  You  wouldn't  be- 
lieve me,  anyway,"  she  retorted,  sharply.  Then 
her  face  softened.  She  lifted  to  his  eager  eyes  a 
look  of  infinite  tenderness  and  pity.  Under  its  in- 
fluence his  grip  upon  her  arms  relaxed,  and  she 
gently  freed  herself.  Then,  in  a  low  voice,  she  con- 
tinued : 

"  I  just  can't  tell  you,  Jim !  It  ain't  my  business. 
I  think  too  much  of  you  to  risk  losing  your  friend- 
ship. I  can't  have  you  turn  against  me.  No,  no, 
I  can't.  Don't  ask  me!  I  can't!  I  can't!"  And 
covering  her  mouth  with  both  hands  she  gave  a  sob 
and  ran  away  into  her  father's  cabin.  Jim  gazed 
after  her  in  amazed  consternation,  till  presently  his 
anxiety  turned  to  annoyance.  He  wheeled  about 
on  his  heel  and  stalked  forward  to  give  some 
orders,  muttering  as  he  went: 

"Oh,  hell!  What's  the  use!"  Then  he  pro- 
ceeded to  restore  himself  to  good-humour  by  think- 
ing about  Luella,  who  never  fretted  him  thus  with 
the  tragical-mysterious.  When  he  went  ashore  a 


Melissa's  Master-stroke  55 

little  later,  and  walked  with  Luella  in  the  summer- 
scented  twilight,  and  talked  happily  with  her  about 
the  morrow  and  the  future,  and  what  they  would 
do  as  soon  as  he  could  get  a  ship  of  his  own,  he 
had  forgotten  all  about  "  Melissa  Britton's  whims." 

Next  morning,  Jim's  duties  on  shipboard  were 
many  and  troublesome.  As  he  hurried  hither  and 
thither,  a  little  exultant  in  his  new  authority, 
Melissa  suddenly  presented  herself  before  him,  with 
a  bit  of  folded  paper  in  her  hands.  The  expression 
in  her  face  drove  the  cheer  from  his.  It  seemed  to 
freeze  his  veins  with  foreboding. 

"What  —  what  is  it,  Melissy?"    he  stammered. 

"Come  here,  Jim!"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  so  that  it  was  hardly  articulate. 

She  led  him  into  the  cabin,  and  faced  him,  steady- 
ing herself  with  one  hand  on  the  cabin  table.  Her 
eyes  met  his  directly,  and  with  that  same  look  of 
pity  which  had  so  disturbed  him  before. 

"  You  are  a  strong  man,  Jim !  "  she  said,  speak- 
ing half  in  a  whisper. 

"  Yes !  yes!  what  is  it?  Tell  me  quick,  Melissy." 
And  he  half-reached  out  his  hand  to  take  the 
scrap  of  paper  she  held. 

She  put  her  hands  behind  her  back,  and  spoke 
very  sadly. 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  you,  Jim !  You'll  hate  me, 
I  know  you'll  hate  me.  But  I'm  your  friend,  and 


56  The  Heart  That  Knows 

I've  seen  I  must  tell  you,  whatever  it  costs 
me." 

Jim  said  nothing,  but  stared  at  her  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

"  There,"  she  went  on,  suddenly.  "  Read  that, 
Jim!  It  was  in  Bud  Whalley's  pocket.  You'll 
know  now  why  I  was  different  to  —  her !  " 

She  thrust  the  paper  into  Jim's  hand,  and  re- 
treated to  the  other  side  of  the  table,  as  if  she 
feared  him. 

Cool,  sagacious,  merciless  with  the  simplicity  of 
primeval  instinct,  Melissa  had  done  her  work  with 
skilled  completeness.  An  expert  might  have  been 
deceived  in  the  handwriting.  Hours  and  hours 
she  had  spent  in  copying  Luella's  rather  simple 
hand,  from  letters  written  to  her  about  the  garden. 
She  had  got  the  paper  Luella  always  used.  She  had 
no  faintest  flicker  of  compunction,  of  pity  for  the 
girl  whose  life  she  was  destroying.  She  despised 
Luella  for  her  candour  and  her  trustfulness.  In 
fact,  she  despised  every  one  a  little,  except  Jim,  and 
her  father,  and  the  rector  —  and  him  she  would 
have  despised  also,  for  his  unconquerable  faith  in 
humanity,  but  for  her  perception  of  his  mental 
power.  She  watched  Jim  now  with  half-uplifted 
eyes,  feigning  herself  to  shrink  from  the  blow 
which  she  had  been  compelled  to  deal  him.  But  as 
she  watched  the  change  that  came  slowly  over  his 


Melissa's  Master-stroke  57 

face,  her  feigned  fear  grew  real  enough.  She  did 
not  know  what  might  happen.  She  feared  for  him, 
not  at  all  for  herself,  —  and  drew  a  little  nearer. 
She  had  never  guessed  that  a  face  like  Jim's,  boyish, 
and  sunny,  and  brave,  could  change  so.  It  had  gone 
gray,  and  old,  and  harder  than  stone,  as  she  was 
looking.  And  because  she  was  in  love  with  him, 
the  sight  pierced  her  heart  with  such  a  pang  that 
she  cried  out  under  her  breath  for  pity,  she  who  was 
incapable  of  pity  for  any  one  else. 

Well,  indeed,  had  she  done  her  work.  When  Jim 
looked  at  the  bit  of  paper  which  she  thrust  convul- 
sively into  his  hands,  he  recognized  at  once  the  thin, 
bluish,  faint-lined  paper,  with  the  ill-formed  dove 
stamped  at  the  top  of  the  sheet.  It  was  part  of  a 
bankrupt  stock  which  Abner  Baisley  had  purchased 
in  quantity,  at  a  great  bargain.  He  recognized,  too, 
the  careful  handwriting  which  was  so  unspeakably 
dear  to  him.  Hitherto  he  had  never  seen  it  with- 
out a  thrill  of  joy.  Now,  before  he  could  even  be- 
gin to  gather  the  drift  of  what  was  written,  he 
trembled  with  a  sick  terror.  He  straightened  out 
the  creased  page,  —  but  the  words  swam  before  his 
eyes.  He  thought  of  hurling  the  thing  from  him, 
unread;  but  the  sardonic  humour  of  fate  made  his 
loyalty  his  undoing.  His  love  for  Luella,  his  faith 
in  her,  were  too  great.  He  would  not  insult  her  by 
fearing  to  read  what  she  had  written.  He  read, 


58  The  Heart  That  Knows 

therefore.  And  again  he  read.  And  yet  again,  — 
till  the  words  had  burned  themselves  like  vitriol 
into  his  astounded  brain. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  hard  on  me,  Bud  dear  ? 
How  can  you  be  so  cruel  —  when  you  think  of  all 
that's  been  between  us  —  when  you  know  what  is 
between  us.  How  could  I  marry  you,  no  matter 
how  I  love  you  ?  You  know  you'd  break  any  girl's 
heart,  that  was  married  to  you,  in  a  month,  Bud 
dear.  You  know  we'd  hate  each  other  in  a  month. 
And  maybe  I'd  kill  you  then,  —  or  kill  myself,  Bud. 
I  must  marry  Jim,  —  because  he's  as  good  and  kind 
as  you  are  bad  and  cruel.  But  I'm  yours,  all  yours, 
always,  always,  Bud,  remember  that  —  just  because 
I  can't  help  it.  And  I'll  be  back  with  you  in  just 
a  few  days.  And  think  how  long  he'll  be  away. 
And  oh,  Bud,  forgive  me,  and  don't  be  so  hard,  and 
love  me,  love  me,  Bud  dear,  always.  You  mustt 
for  more  sakes  than  just  my  sake,  Bud. 

"  Your  own 

"  LUELLA." 

As  Jim  read  the  letter  over  and  over  the  whole 
meaning  of  it  grew  clear  moment  by  moment  — 
clear,  eternally  immutable,  indisputable  as  naked 
Truth  herself.  What  had  been  on  Melissa's  part 
but  a  random  shot  in  the  dark  proved  to  Jim  the 


Melissa's  Master-stroke  59 

most  conclusive  and  deadly  point  of  all.  The  very 
vagueness  of  the  letter,  arising  from  Melissa's  ig- 
norance, testified  to  Luella's  guilty  caution.  Jim 
knew  well  what  it  was  that  the  letter  so  dimly 
hinted  at.  He  would  have  sworn  before  all  the 
angels  and  all  the  saints  of  heaven  to  Luella's  un- 
shakable fidelity,  —  but  in  the  face  of  these  her  own 
deliberate  words  there  was  no  least  room  for  doubt. 
His  whole  world  fell  in  ruin  about  his  ears.  His 
brain  was  yet  too  bewildered  to  fully  apprehend 
what  had  befallen  him  —  though  his  body,  more 
instantly  understanding,  was  betraying  its  anguish 
in  the  clenching  of  fingers,  the  contraction  of  eye- 
balls, the  blanching  of  cheek  and  lip,  the  crowding 
back  of  the  blood  into  the  shocked  and  reluctant 
heart.  In  a  far-off  way  he  heard  himself  asking, 
"  Where  did  you  git  this,  Melissy?  "  And  vaguely, 
as  if  from  very  far  away,  he  heard  her  answer, 
tremulously,  "In  Bud  Whalley's  pocket!"  Then, 
as  he  stared  at  her  without  replying,  his  brain  re- 
covered its  use,  and  he  knew  that  life  and  hope 
were  dead  within  him.  He  wished  that  he  could 
drop  dead,  then,  at  that  monstrous  moment.  But 
he  could  not.  And  there  was  work  to  do.  Slowly 
his  locked  fingers  relaxed;  the  letter  fell  to  the 
cabin  floor;  and  he  turned,  climbed  the  steep  com- 
panionway  and  hurried  "  up  forrard  "  blindly. 
With  a  wild  thought  that  he  might  be  going 


60  The  Heart  That  Knows 

to  jump  overboard,  Melissa  followed  close  at  his 
heels  —  after  picking  up  the  letter.  It  was  a  foolish 
fear,  however.  She  saw  Jim  stopped  by  the  first 
mate,  Ezra  Boltenhouse,  who  eyed  him  curiously, 
and  said : 

"  Jim,  the  captain's  jest  sent  word  he  wants  to 
sail  this  afternoon's  tide,  'stead  er  to-morrow. 
Owners  has  got  wind  o'  some  more  freight  we  kin 
pick  up  in  St.  John,  fer  Matanzas,  if  we're  in  time. 
This  'ere  wind's  just  what  we've  been  a-wishin'  fer! 
Couldn't  you  pull  off  the  weddin'  this  mornin', 
'stead  er  to-night,  an'  git  Mrs.  Calder  aboard  in  time 
so's  we  could  go  out  with  the  tide?  It  means  dol- 
lars an'  dollars  to  the  ship  —  an'  this  her  first  trip, 
too!" 

"  Ther'  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  no  weddin',  Ezra,"  an- 
swered Jim,  in  a  strange  voice.  "  I'm  a'ready, 
right  now !  " 

Mr.  Boltenhouse  looked  deeply  troubled.  He 
had  a  faith  that  anything  could  be  remedied. 

"  Now,  Jim  —  "  he  began. 

But  Jim  cut  him  short,  gave  him  one  terrible 
look,  and  strode  forward  among  the  men,  leaving 
him  astounded.  He  turned  to  Melissa  for  enlight- 
enment. 

"  Jim  Calder  ain't  the  man  to  leave  a  nice  girl 
like  Luelly  in  the  lurch,  surely?"  he  suggested. 

"  I  reckon  he  must  have  good  reason,  Mr.  Bol- 


Melissa's  Master-stroke  6 1 

tenhouse!"  replied  Melissa,  gravely.  "One  don't 
have  to  ask.  To  look  at  his  face  is  enough." 

"  But  what  does  it  mean  ?  What's  it  all  about  ? 
It's  nothin'  but  a  pair  of  young  fools  they  be !  Why 
don't  somebody  bring  'em  to  their  senses,  afore  it's 
too  late?  I  won't  never  believe  a  word  agin  Luelly 
Warden,  anyhow.  If  Jim  lets  her  slip,  he'll  lose  the 
finest  girl  in  Westcock." 

His  sunburnt  forehead  and  sun-bleached,  shaggy 
eyebrows  were  knotted  with  solicitude,  as  he  gaped 
after  Jim's  retreating  form. 

A  fierce  wave  of  jealousy  surged  up  from  Me- 
lissa's heart,  flooding  face  and  neck;  and  the  note 
which  she  clutched  in  her  pocket  burned  at  her  fin- 
gers. She  would  show  it  to  this  fool  who  thought 
the  perfection  of  all  womanhood  centred  in  Luella 
Warden;  and  it  would  open  his  eyes  for  him.  But 
her  wary  brain  crushed  down  the  rage  within  her; 
and  amazement  at  her  own  madness  cooled  her  with 
a  shock. 

"  That's  just  what  I'd  have  thought  myself,  Mr. 
Boltenhouse,"  she  answered,  sadly.  "  But  from  all 
I  can  make  out,  it  must  be  something  terrible  come 
between  them.  I  tried  to  talk  to  him,  till  I  dasn't 
say  another  word,  the  look  in  his  face  was  that  aw- 
ful. Oh,  I'm  glad  we're  going  to  sail  to-day.  I 
hope  he  won't  go  ashore.  I'd  be  afraid  something 
even  more  dreadful  might  happen." 


62  The  Heart  That  Knows 

"  An'  couldn't  you  git  any  kind  of  a  clue  as  to 
what  it's  all  about  ? "  persisted  the  mate,  eying 
Jim's  distant  form  with  resentful  bewilderment. 

Melissa  shook  her  head  hopelessly. 

"  Well,  'tain't  no  business  of  our'n,  I  suppose !  " 
snapped  the  mate,  turning  away. 

Jim  went  about  his  work  like  a  machine,  giving 
his  orders  in  a  voice  of  iron  so  unlike  his  usual 
brisk  and  cheerful  tones  that  the  men  kept  watching 
him  furtively.  His  face,  with  eyes  sunken,  yet 
burning,  the  mouth  gray  and  dead,  effectually  pre- 
vented questions.  When,  some  four  hours  later, 
Captain  Britton  came  hurrying  aboard,  to  find 
the  ship  almost  ready  to  sail  and  no  Luella  there, 
he  fell  into  a  rage  at  once. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Mr.  Calder  ? "  he  de- 
manded, his  face  reddening  up  hotly.  "  Damn  it, 
man,  I  sent  you  word  time  enough.  Do  you  think 
I'm  goin'  to  wait  over  till  the  nex'  tide  to  suit  your 
convenience?  " 

"  No  occasion  to  wait  on  my  account,  captain ! 
I'm  ready,"  answered  Jim,  in  a  level  voice. 

"  No  occasion  ?  What  ?  —  Where's  the  girl  ? 
What  d'you  mean  ?  What  in  hell  —  "  stammered 
the  captain,  staring  about  as  if  he  expected  to  see 
Luella  come  over  the  bulwarks.  Getting  no  reply, 
he  stared  angrily  into  Jim's  face.  As  he  did  so,  his 
anger  paled  away.  Without  repeating  his  demands 


Melissa's  Master-stroke  63 

for  enlightenment  he  began  roaring  orders  in  his 
great  fog-horn  voice  till  he  had  every  man  aboard 
on  the  run.  Then  he  hurried  off  to  the  cabin  to  look 
for  Melissa,  who  was  his  resort  in  any  trouble,  and 
make  another  vain  effort  to  find  out  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

An  hour  later,  the  anchor  came  up,  to  the  rhythm 
of  the  swinging  chantey;  and  the  G.  G.  Goodridge, 
under  full  sail,  went  out  from  Tantramar  with  wind 
and  tide. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
LUELLA'S  FRIENDS,  AND  OTHERS 

ON  the  day  after  the  sailing  of  the  G.  G.  Good- 
ridge,  all  Westcock  stirred  with  a  pleasurable  thrill 
of  anticipation.  How  was  Luella  going  to  take  it? 
And  how  was  she  going  to  explain  it?  A  few, 
however,  ventured  to  suggest  that  maybe  there 
wouldn't  be  much  information  coming. 

White  and  quivering  from  her  night  of  tearless 
vigil,  Luella  came  down  in  the  early  morning  to 
take  up  the  day's  work  and  face  her  little  world. 
Her  uncle  Abner  was  already  in  the  store,  as  usual ; 
but  when  he  caught  sound  of  her  in  the  kitchen  he 
came  mincing  out  to  the  attack,  his  narrow  face 
sharp  with  grievance,  his  sparse  side-whiskers  bris- 
tling forward  with  resentment  because,  on  his  re- 
turn from  church,  Luella  had  disregarded  his 
hammerings  at  her  bedroom  door. 

"  Good  morning,  Uncle  Abner ! "  said  Luella, 
without  looking  up.  Her  supreme  effort  was  to 
make  her  voice  sound  natural.  It  was  not  natural ; 
but  Abner  Baisley  was  not  the  man  to  mark  the 
difference. 

64 


Luella's  Friends,  and  Others         65 

"  A  pretty  story,  this,"  he  broke  out,  in  his  rasp- 
ing voice.  "  A  pretty  talk  to  make,  a  pretty  scandal 
to  bring  on  me!  I  want  to  know  what  it  means, 
right  straight." 

The  girl's  head  drooped  a  little  lower  over  the 
kitchen  table. 

"  I  ain't  got  nothin'  to  tell  you,  Uncle  Abner!  " 
she  answered,  relapsing  into  the  village  vernacular, 
which  much  visiting  at  the  parsonage  had  taught 
her  to  avoid. 

The  old  storekeeper  had  never  seen  her  so  meek. 
His  courage  rose,  and  his  righteous  anger  with  it. 

"  You've  got  to  tell  me,  an'  tell  me  this  minute. 
I  command  you  to  tell  me !  "  he  cried. 

"  I  tell  you,  uncle,  I  haven't  got  a  single  thing  to 
say.  I  just  want  you  to  let  me  be.  Oh,  I  want  to 
be  let  be!" 

Her  shoulders  sagged  forward,  till  she  looked 
smaller  and  slighter  than  he  had  ever  imagined  she 
could  look.  At  the  sight  his  sense  of  injury  and  his 
indignation  against  her  grew  yet  more  fierce. 

"  You  got  to  tell  me!  You  got  to  tell  me!  "  he 
almost  shouted,  his  voice  shrilling  discordantly. 
"  Think  I'm  a-goin'  to  be  disgraced  this  way,  made 
a  fool  of  before  the  whole  neighbourhood,  an'  not 
know  nothin'  about  it!  " 

Luella  turned,  straightened  herself  up,  and  eyed 
him  steadily  till  he  had  finished  speaking.  Some- 


66  The  Heart  That  Knows 

thing  in  her  gray,  cold  look  pierced  his  anger  and 
brought  him  to  his  senses  all  at  once.  This  was  a 
woman,  not  a  girl,  confronting  him,  —  a  woman 
who  had  been  through  the  flames  of  the  pit.  Her 
eyes  daunted  him.  But  she  did  not  say  much.  It 
was  only,  —  after  a  long  pause,  — 

"  You  ain't  goin'  to  know  a  thing  about  it  more'n 
you  know  already !  " 

"  But  hain't  I  a  right  to  know,  since  it  teches 
me  so  close  ?  Hain't  I  a  right  to  know  ? "  he 
blustered. 

"  And  if  you  can't  let  me  be,  from  this  on,  Uncle 
Abner,"  she  continued,  unheeding  of  his  interrup- 
tion, "  I'll  quit  this  house  right  now,  an'  never  set 
foot  in  it  again !  " 

This,  to  the  frugal  old  storekeeper,  was  a  very 
serious  threat.  He  knew  he  could  get  no  other 
housekeeper  who  could  give  him  so  much  comfort, 
and  dignity,  at  so  little  cost.  And  much  of  the  fur- 
niture of  the  place,  moreover,  was  Luella's,  left  to 
her  by  her  father  and  mother,  who  had  gone  down 
together  with  her  father's  ship  when  she  was  a  child 
of  ten.  He  forgot  even  to  save  his  dignity  by  keep- 
ing up  a  show  of  anger,  but  struck  his  colours  at 
once,  and  backed  away. 

"  Well,  well,  Luella,  if  you  feel  that  strongly 
about  it,  why  of  course  I  must  be  a-mindin'  my  own 
business.  I  jest  thought  as  how  it  was  my  duty  to 


Luella's  Friends,  and  Others          67 

you,  maybe,  to  say  somethin'  —  but,  there,  there, 
you  was  always  that  headstrong.  An'  it  is  your 
business,  of  course.  'Tain't  nobody's  else's."  And 
with  these  words  he  slipped  through  into  the  store, 
softly  closing  the  door  behind  him.  At  breakfast, 
half  an  hour  later,  he  was  genial  with  conversation 
about  the  weather  and  the  crops,  seeming  to  see 
nothing  out  of  the  way  in  Luella's  half-articulate, 
wholly  irrelevant  replies. 

A  little  after  breakfast  the  rector  came  in  to  see 
her.  His  kind  eyes  were  full  of  trouble,  and  met 
hers  searchingly  as  he  took  her  hand.  He  had 
heard,  of  course,  Mary  Dugan's  account  of  her 
strange  interview  with  Luella  at  the  parsonage 
gate,  —  but  his  first  look  into  the  girl's  drawn  face 
told  him  a  different  story.  Intuitive  as  a  woman, 
and  far  more  tolerantly  tender,  he  understood  how 
Luella  had  thought  to  hide  her  wound  by  taking  the 
blame  upon  herself.  Asking  no  question,  he  led 
her  into  the  little  sitting-room,  sat  down  beside  her 
on  the  black  haircloth  sofa,  took  her  icy  hand  in 
both  of  his,  which  were  warm,  and  soft,  and  strong, 
and  looked  out  of  the  window  across  the  red  creek 
and  green  marshes,  waiting  till  her  heart  should 
move  her  to  speak. 

After  a  long  silence,  the  spell  of  his  strength  and 
sympathy  melted  her.  She  laid  her  face  down  on 
his  hands  and  began  to  sob  convulsively.  Then, 


68  The  Heart  That  Knows 

since  he  still  refrained  from  questioning  her,  she 
tried  to  tell  him. 

"  Oh,  what  can  it  mean?  "  she  gasped.  "  I  can't 
think  what's  happened.  There  was  never  a  hard 
word  passed  between  us,  never,  never.  I've  never 
wronged  him,  not  even  by  a  thought.  Oh,  it  ain't 
my  fault,  it  ain't  my  fault.  I  don't  see  how  I  ever 
can  go  on  living.  I  don't  see  how  I  ever  can." 

"  I'm  very  sure  it  is  not  your  fault,  dear,"  said 
the  rector,  releasing  one  hand  to  lay  it  softly  on  the 
girl's  head.  "  And  you  must  not  tell  people  it  is 
your  fault,  —  as  you  told  Mary  Dugan  last  night. 
But  I  cannot  easily  believe  it  is  Jim's  fault,  either. 
Have  you  had  no  word,  no  sign  of  any  kind,  from 
him  ?  It  is  not  like  Jim  to  treat  any  living  creature 
that  way.  I  won't  believe  it  of  him." 

At  this,  which  seemed  to  hint  at  some  hope,  Lu- 
ella's  tears  came  freely,  wildly,  breaking  the  deadly 
tension  of  her  nerves.  But  what  hope  could  there 
be?  The  ship  was  gone.  Jim  was  gone.  But  if 
the  rector  could  think  there  might  be,  then,  in  some 
mysterious  way,  surely  there  might  be  hope.  At 
last  she  found  her  voice  enough  to  murmur  —  "  No, 
—  I  ain't  —  had  one  —  single  —  word." 

"  Be  brave,  dear  child,"  said  the  rector.  "  A 
letter  may  come  from  St.  John.  He  may  come  to 
his  senses  before  he  gets  to  St.  John.  And  I  will 
write  to  him.  With  this  wind  holding  as  it  does, 


Luella's  Friends,  and  Others          69 

my  letter  would  not  catch  him  in  St.  John,  now. 
I'll  write  him  at  Matanzas,  where  it  cannot  miss 
him  if  the  ship  calls  there." 

To  Luella  this  was  hope  indeed,  at  least  for  the 
moment.  She  clutched  his  hand  with  both  of  hers, 
afraid  to  let  go  lest  she  should  fall  back  into  the 
abyss  of  darkness.  Then  the  rector  arose. 

"  I'll  go  around  and  see  Mrs.  Calder  now.  She 
may  have  had  some  word." 

At  this  Luella  sat  up  straight,  and  stared  at  him 
with  wet,  swollen  eyes. 

"Would  she  get  word  from  him,  an'  me  not?" 
she  demanded.  "  Oh,  how  she  hates  me.  How 
glad  she'll  be.  Could  it  be  her  as  got  him  to 
do  it?" 

The  rector  gave  a  little  sigh  of  relief.  This  was 
more  the  natural  woman,  now.  He  had  been  afraid, 
almost,  for  Luella's  reason,  when  he  saw  the  gray- 
ness  of  her  set  face,  and  the  eyes  gone  far  back  into 
her  head  with  anguish.  Now,  he  knew  that  she 
would  get  a  grip  upon  herself,  and  cherish  a  hope, 
however  frail  and  far,  and  front  life  with  that  in- 
domitable spirit  which  she  inherited  from  her  blue- 
eyed  viking  of  a  father. 

"No!"  he  declared,  positively.  "Mrs.  Calder 
could  not  do  that,  if  she  would.  She  is  hard  and 
bitter,  I  know.  But  she  is  not  so  bad  as  that  I'll 
gx>  and  speak  to  her,  and  let  you  know." 


The  Heart  That  Knows 


But  from  this  interview  with  Mrs.  Calder,  whose 
insinuations  against  Luella  he  found  occasion  to 
rebuke  with  a  sternness  that  daunted  even  her  un- 
yielding temper,  he  learned  nothing  more  than  that 
Jim  was  alive  and  well,  and  able  to  write  a  letter  to 
his  mother.  Mrs.  Calder  would  not  even  say  what 
kind  of  a  letter  it  was. 

Having  been  thus  reanchored,  as  it  were,  to 
sanity  and  endurance,  by  the  rector's  timely  under- 
standing and  the  touch  of  his  inextinguishable  trust, 
Luella  held  her  head  up  and  her  tongue  still  toward 
all  the  inquisition  of  the  countryside.  Friends  and 
enemies  alike  found  her  impenetrable  and  repellent 
if  her  secret  was  even  approached.  Otherwise,  only 
by  an  infrangible  gravity  of  look  and  speech, 
through  the  trying  weeks  that  followed,  did  she 
betray  what  she  was  passing  through.  People 
agreed,  with  the  fine  perspicacity  which  character- 
izes the  human  race  in  general,  and  the  prosperously 
good  in  particular,  that  she  was  hard  and  heartless. 
They  chose  to  believe  those  wild  words  of  hers 
which  Mary  Dugan,  innocently  enough,  had  re- 
peated ;  and  they  decided  that  it  was  indeed,  in  some 
way  which  they  could  not  yet  decide  upon,  all 
Luella's  fault.  They  resented  her  incommunicative- 
ness;  and  called  her  "  stuck  up,"  because  she  would 
not  bare  her  heart  to  the  collective  village  eye. 
Presently  the  fickle  countryside  sentiment  went 


Luella's  Friends,  and  Others          71 

over,  almost  en  masse,  to  the  surprised  and  unre- 
sponsive Mrs.  Calder,  who,  indeed,  welcomed  it  but 
grimly. 

Perhaps  among  all  the  good  people  between 
Frosty  Hollow  and  Wood  Point  there  were  not 
more  than  two,  besides  the  rector,  toward  whom 
Luella  could  lower  her  guard  for  a  moment.  These 
were  Mrs.  Goodridge  and  old  Sis  Bembridge. 
Even  the  kindly  Mary  Dugan  was  somewhat  criti- 
cal and  inquisitive.  That  meeting  with  Luella  at  the 
parsonage  gate  had  been  a  great  thing  for  Mary  in 
the  village.  It  had  given  her  a  sort  of  proprietary 
interest  in  the  affair.  It  had  enabled  her  to  speak 
with  a  certain  authority  about  it  which  no  one  else 
possessed.  Knowing  so  much,  she  felt  it  her  right 
to  know  more.  If  Luella  could  speak  to  her  about 
it  then,  why  could  she  not  tell  her  more  about  it 
now?  In  her  first  elation  at  finding  herself  so  dis- 
tinguished, she  very  generally  and  confidently  un- 
dertook to  "  git  it  all  out  of  Luella,"  for  the  general 
benefit.  And  when  she  found  herself  confronted  by 
Luella's  intimidating  reserve,  she  felt  herself  in- 
jured. In  fact,  it  was  largely  on  her  testimony 
that  Luella  was  adjudged  to  be  "  stuck  up."  Nev- 
ertheless, for  all  this,  Mary  Dugan  was  a  well- 
wisher  of  Luella's  in  the  main,  and  prompt  to  take 
up  cudgels  in  her  defence  against  any  serious  impu- 
tation. It  was  a  childish  jealousy,  merely,  and  a 


72  The  Heart  That  Knows 

childish  vanity,  which  made  her  seem,  just  now, 
something  less  than  loyal. 

But  with  Mrs.  Goodridge  it  was  very  different. 
That  ardent-hearted  lady,  always  audacious  and  not 
always  incorrect  in  her  conclusions,  had  boiled  over 
with  generous  and  instant  wrath  when  she  found 
that  Jim  had  gone.  Her  fair  face  reddened  slowly 
to  the  roots  of  her  gold-brown,  abundant  hair,  and 
her  blue  eyes  flamed  through  tears. 

"It's  all  that  Melissa  Britton,"  she  declared. 
"The  hussy!" 

"  What  nonsense,  Jean !  "  answered  the  rector. 
"  It's  outrageous  to  accuse  people  in  that  reckless 
fashion.  You  must  not  do  it !  " 

Mrs.  Goodridge  had  an  overwhelming  amount  of 
"  feelings  "  to  relieve,  at  the  moment,  and  no  one 
to  relieve  them  upon  except  her  husband.  She 
turned  upon  him  accusingly. 

"  You  know  yourself  it's  that  little  red-haired 
hussy,  George !  You  know  it  as  well  as  I  do.  You 
should  never  have  had  her  in  the  choir.  You  al- 
ways favoured  her  over  everybody  else.  If  you 
hadn't  insisted  on  having  her  in  the  choir,  all  this 
would  never  have  happened.  She'd  never  have  got 
her  nasty  little  eyes  on  Jim  Calder." 

The  rector  threw  up  his  hands  in  despair  and 
turned  away.  Then,  rashly,  he  turned  back  to 
argue  the  point. 


Luella's  Friends,  and  Others          73 

"  Why,"  he  protested  in  astonishment,  "  you 
know  you've  always  made  a  lot  of  Melissa,  yourself, 
Jean.  Much  more  than  I  have,  always.  How  can 
you  so  turn  against  the  poor  child  now,  merely 
because  your  heart  is  aching  for  Luella!  " 

Mrs.  Goodridge's  eyes  got  bigger  and  bluer,  and 
the  tears  that  had  been  softening  them  burned 
dry. 

"  Made  a  lot  of  her! "  she  cried.  "I!  That's 
just  the  way  with  you,  George!  I've  tried  to  be 
nice  to  her  for  your  sake,  just  because  you  would 
force  her  on  me.  I  always  saw  through  her.  I 
always  detested  her.  And  now  see  what's  come  of 
your  dragging  her  forward,  and  sticking  her  up 
there  in  the  choir,  and  always  making  her  sing 
solos,  when  she  has  no  more  voice  than  a  frog. 
And  here  you  stand,  defending  her,  sticking  up  for 
her,  while  that  poor,  dear  child  is  down  there 
alone  with  that  narrow  old  hatchet-faced  uncle  of 
hers,  crying  her  dear  eyes  out,  eating  her  heart 
out  with  grief.  Oh,  it  drives  me  mad  to  think  of  it ! 
You've  always  professed  to  think  so  much  of  her. 
You're  ready  enough  to  think  of  her  when  you 
want  the  flowers  stuck  around.  You  ought  to  be 
with  her  now.  That's  your  place.  Oh,  I've  no 
patience  with  you ! "  And  bouncing  from  her 
chair,  she  fell  to  rearranging  things  furiously  on 
the  study  table,  —  books  and  papers,  which,  in  their 


74  The  Heart  That  Knows 

seeming  disorder,  were  really  just  as  the  rector 
needed  to  have  them. 

Troubled  at  this,  the  rector  stepped  forward  to 
check  the  disastrous  process;  but  he  checked  him- 
self instead,  and  looked  on  half-ruefully,  half-quiz- 
zically. 

"  Of  course,"  said  he,  "  that  was  the  first  thing  I 
thought  of  doing.  But  I  concluded  that  it  was  bet- 
ter not  to." 

"  Then  /  will! "  retorted  his  wife,  vehemently. 
"  I  don't  care  how  late  it  is,  or  how  dark  it  is,  I'll 
go  alone,  since  you're  so  unfeeling." 

"  No,  you  must  not  do  anything  of  the  sort,"  an- 
swered her  husband,  emphatically.  "  She  wouldn't 
want  to  see  even  you  to-night.  The  only  kindness 
we  can  do  the  poor  child  to-night,  I  know,  is  to 
leave  her  alone.  No  one  knows  better  than  you, 
Jean,  how  my  heart  aches  for  her.  But  she  must 
be  let  alone." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  what  a  woman 
needs?  You  just  don't  want  to  be  dragged  out  at 
this  time  of  night.  And  I'd  look  nice,  tramping 
away  down  to  the  aboi-d'eaux  by  myself  in  the 
dark,  wouldn't  I?" 

With  this  last  shot  Mrs.  Goodridge  marched  from 
the  room,  slammed  the  study  door  behind  her,  and 
fled  up-stairs  to  her  bedroom  to  cry  tumultuously. 
She  knew  her  husband  was  absolutely  right;  and 


Luella's  Friends,  and  Others          75 

she  would  not  have  intruded  upon  Luella  that  night 
for  worlds.  But  if  she  had  not  been  able  to  ease  her 
heart  a  little  of  its  hotness,  the  dammed-up  floods 
of  her  indignant  compassion  would  have  given  her 
a  headache  to  keep  her  awake  all  night.  As  it  was, 
she  had  the  double  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
the  rector  was  right,  and  of  thinking  that  she  had 
made  him  feel  that  perhaps  he  was  wrong.  She 
wanted  him  to  feel  as  miserable  as  she  felt  herself; 
and  in  the  belief  that  she  had  done  so  she  began  to 
recover  her  composure.  First,  however,  she  called 
Mary  Dugan  to  the  bedroom,  and  made  the  girl 
repeat  her  story.  Then  she  asked  who  else  had 
heard  the  tale.  When  she  learned  that  Mary  had 
succeeded  in  telling  the  Evanses,  and  the  Purdies, 
and  the  Ackerleys,  and  Mrs.  Finnimore,  and  Mrs. 
Gandy,  the  flood  of  her  righteous  indignation  burst 
all  bounds ;  and  the  too  garrulous  Mary  was  packed 
off  to  bed  in  tears.  This  accomplished,  the  storm 
cleared  apace.  One  hour  later  she  stole  down-stairs 
again  in  her  crocheted  blue  bedroom  slippers,  to 
mix  a  creamy  egg-nog  for  the  rector,  and  strictly 
enjoin  him  to  take  it  before  he  went  to  bed.  His 
habit  of  working  at  his  desk  till  the  small  hours 
was  one  which  she  viewed  with  anxiety. 

Toward  Luella  herself,  however,  Mrs.  Goodridge 
displayed  none  of  this  rather  tempestuous  partisan- 
ship. At  the  point  of  real  need,  her  sympathy  and 


76  The  Heart  That  Knows 

tact  were  unerring.  She  waited  two  days  before 
going  to  see  Luella.  Then,  when  the  girl  stood 
gravely  and  silently  before  her  in  the  little  sitting- 
room,  —  which  had  fresh  flowers  in  it,  as  usual,  — 
she  spared  her  not  only  questions  but  even  the 
searching  interrogation  of  her  eyes.  Catching  her 
to  her  heart  she  held  her  close,  and  patted  her 
shoulders,  and  kissed  her  pale,  bright  hair,  and 
crooned  over  her,  —  inarticulately,  indeed,  but  to 
Luella  most  intelligibly.  Under  this  comforting  in- 
fluence Luella  gradually  let  herself  go.  She  did 
not  say  anything,  but  she  slipped  back  into  the  child, 
and  began  to  cry  with  a  child's  abandon.  Mrs. 
Goodridge  pulled  her  down  brusquely  into  her 
strong  lap,  and  let  her  cry  herself  out.  Then  she 
lifted  her  up. 

"  Luella,  child,"  she  said,  impressively,  "  I'm 
not  going  to  bother  you  with  a  lot  of  talk.  Talk 
doesn't  do  any  good.  But  mark  my  words.  This 
will  come  out  all  right  some  day.  Every  man  is  a 
fool  sometimes.  But  Jim  Calder  is  not  the  kind  of 
man  to  be  a  fool  always.  He  will  come  back  to  you 
on  his  knees.  I  know  he  will." 

"  I  don't  want  Jim  on  his  knees!  "  she  declared, 
loyally ;  but  she  lifted,  nevertheless,  a  swift  look  of 
gratitude  to  her  comforter's  face. 

"  Tut !  Tut !  You  want  him  anyway  you  can 
get  him!"  averred  Mrs.  Goodridge.  "And  now 


Luella's  Friends,  and  Others          77 

wipe  your  eyes  and  put  on  your  sunbonnet,  and 
come  right  along  with  me,  just  as  you  are.  You're 
going  to  stay  at  the  parsonage  for  a  couple  of  days. 
Tell  your  uncle  he'll  have  to  get  along  alone  till 
Thursday  night,  the  best  way  he  can.  You'll  kill 
yourself,  drudging  for  him  the  way  you  do !  " 

Rather  hesitatingly  Luella  obeyed,  —  but  Mrs. 
Goodridge  was  a  difficult  woman  to  cross.  Mr. 
Baisley,  though  he  hated  being  left  to  get  his  own 
meals,  and  was  too  "  nigh  "  to  hire  the  work  done 
for  him,  was  amazingly  cordial  in  his  manner  of 
receiving  Luella's  announcement  of  her  going.  He 
realized  to  the  full  the  value  of  the  backing  of  Mrs. 
Goodridge  at  this  crisis.  He  would  eat  "  cold 
victuals  "  gladly  indeed  for  two  days,  to  be  able  to 
answer  prying  interrogations  about  Luella's  health 
and  spirits  with  the  careless  words  — 

"  Oh,  she's  well  enough,  I  calculate.  She's  havin' 
a  gay  time,  a-stayin'  up  to  the  parsonage,  an'  leavin' 
her  old  uncle  to  do  the  work." 

This  formula  he  used  with  effect  quite  satisfac- 
tory to  his  prestige,  till  he  was  so  misguided  as  to 
try  it  on  old  Mrs.  Bembridge,  when  she  came  hob- 
bling heavily  into  the  store  for  a  half-pound  of 
tea,  the  morning  after  Mrs.  Goodridge  had  carried 
Luella  away. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  OLD  SIS  " 

OLD  Mrs.  Bembridge  —  in  the  familiar  speech 
of  Westcock,  "  Old  Sis  "  —  was,  according  to  her 
lights,  a  sort  of  anarch  of  the  countryside.  She 
was  a  law  unto  herself;  and,  what  is  more  unusual, 
she  allowed  a  like  unconfined  individualism  to 
others.  Generally  speaking,  she  was  regarded 
throughout  the  neighbourhood  as  "  a  bad  old 
woman."  Westcock  was  given  to  broad  and  hasty 
generalizations.  As  to  her  age,  however,  she  was 
scarce  fifty,  and  of  a  constitution  which  might  well 
see  her  through  to  the  hundred  mark;  and  as  to 
her  badness,  —  in  the  eyes  of  the  rector,  at  least, 
and  of  Mrs.  Goodridge,  and  of  Luella  Warden, 
and  of  certain  ever-ailing  incompetents  who  were 
a  burden  and  discredit  to  the  community,  there  was 
room  for  doubt.  She  was  regarded  as  peculiarly 
a  widow,  having  had  three  husbands.  The  first  had 
been  divorced,  the  second  had  died  at  sea,  and  the 
third  —  whom  she  had  married  because  he  was 
no  earthly  use  and  needed  a  home  —  had  been  con- 

78 


"  Old  Sis  "  79 

siderate  enough  to  run  away.  So  many  marital  in- 
experiences —  especially  when  Westcock  contained 
worthy  ladies  who  had  never  achieved  even  one  — 
seemed  to  smack  of  impropriety.  It  was  immodest, 
at  least.  Furthermore,  it  was  commonly  hinted  that 
among  the  superstitious  she  was  held  to  be  a  witch ; 
and  every  one  knew  that  every  one  else  in  West- 
cock,  except  the  person  who  chanced  to  be  speaking, 
was  superstitious.  One  thing  was  quite  certain,  she 
never,  for  any  consideration,  could  be  induced  to 
go  to  church,  —  which  looked  queer.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  was  known  that  the  rector  was  no  less  at- 
tentive in  his  calls  at  her  little  gray,  weather-beaten 
cottage,  than  at  the  houses  of  his  most  prosperous 
and  most  reputable  parishioners.  There  was  no 
question  on  that  point,  for  whenever  he  dropped  in 
to  see  Mrs.  Bembridge  his  hearty,  infectious  laugh- 
ter would  be  heard  ringing  down  across  her  potato- 
patch  to  the  road,  so  that  passers-by  would  smile 
sympathetically  even  while  they  wondered. 

But  however  folk  might  criticize  "  Old  Sis,"  it 
was  invariably  behind  her  back  they  did  it.  There 
was  something  in  her  penetrating  steel-gray  eyes 
that  was  discouraging  to  presumption.  A  few  had 
seen  those  disconcerting  eyes  grow  kind,  but  many 
knew  their  scorn;  and  her  daring  spirit  was  always 
ready  for  battle,  no  matter  what  the  odds.  More- 
over, even  the  clean,  invigorating  air  of  Westcock, 


80  The  Heart  That  Knows 

swept  as  it  was  by  free  winds,  and  tonic  with  min- 
gled savours  of  balsam  and  salt,  did  not  prevent 
people  from  falling  sick  occasionally;  and  none 
could  tell  when  they  might  need  a  nurse.  There 
was  no  nurse  in  the  county  to  compare  with  Mrs. 
Bembridge,  whose  caustic  humour  never  compan- 
ioned her  into  the  sickroom.  Nothing  could  daunt 
her,  from  a  mad  bull  to  the  plague;  and  when  the 
Tantramar  country  was  visited  by  smallpox,  she 
and  she  only  it  was  whom  the  rector  and  the  doctors 
could  rely  on.  It  was  obviously  impolitic  for  people 
to  force  upon  Mrs.  Bembridge's  attention  their 
righteous  disapproval  of  her. 

Except  for  those  deep-set,  steady  gray  eyes  of 
hers,  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Bembridge  was  not 
altogether  prepossessing.  On  her  iron-gray  hair 
she  wore  a  ridiculously  small  cap  of  coarse  black 
lace  and  ribbon,  from  beneath  which,  somewhere,  a 
rebellious  wisp  was  always  sticking  up  at  a  defiant 
angle.  Her  face  was  craggy,  high-nosed,  and  bat- 
tered, and  her  great  eyebrows  were  always  aggres- 
sively at  bristle.  Her  wide  mouth,  full  of  big,  yel- 
low teeth,  was  usually  grim,  but  ever  ready  to  relax 
at  the  corners  with  a  shrewd,  self-contained  hu- 
mour. She  was  a  little  under  middle  height,  but 
very  broad  and  thick  in  bosom  and  hip;  and  being 
slightly  lame,  she  never  walked  without  a  heavy 
staff  to  help  support  her  weight.  She  dressed  al- 


"Old  Sis"  8 1 

ways  in  a  bluish-gray  woollen  homespun,  the  skirt 
cut  so  short  as  to  show  some  inches  of  her  sturdy 
ankles;  and  these  efficient  ankles  were  clothed  in 
massive,  home-knit,  white  woollen  stockings,  which 
had  a  disposition  to  come  down  in  rolls  over  her 
boat-like,  heavy  shoes.  Over  her  spacious  shoulders 
and  chest,  winter  and  summer  alike,  was  folded  a 
crocheted  woollen  "  sontag  "  of  dingy  magenta.  In 
the  hottest  of  the  dog-days,  in  the  full  blaze  of  noon, 
she  might  be  seen  limping  ponderously  along  the 
road  in  this  costume,  as  indifferent  to  the  heat  as 
to  the  opinions  of  her  neighbours.  Heavy  as  she 
was,  and  lame  as  she  was,  she  was  a  mighty  pedes- 
trian, and  the  old  magenta  sontag  was  a  feature  of 
the  road,  from  Wood  Point  hill  to  the  "  Bito." 

The  little  house  where  Mrs.  Bembridge  lived  was 
about  fifty  paces  back  from  the  Wood  Point  road. 
It  stood  something  less  than  a  quarter  of  mile 
from  the  parsonage,  on  the  same  parallel  of  the  up- 
lands ;  and  like  the  parsonage  it  commanded  a  vast, 
aerial  view  of  the  marshes,  the  bay,  and  the  wind- 
ing, copper-red  channels  of  Tantramar.  Low, 
scant-eaved,  small-windowed,  its  shingles  storm- 
worn  to  an  ancient,  rock-like  gray,  it  rose  naked 
from  the  top  of  a  little,  rounded  swell  of  tilled  land, 
as  if  it  had  been  a  very  growth  of  the  ground. 
Nothing  broke  its  simple  outlines  but  a  small  lean-to 
porch,  with  a  piece  of  stovepipe  sticking  up  through 


82  The  Heart  That  Knows 

its  clapboarded  roof,  to  show  that  it  was  sometimes 
used  as  an  outer  kitchen.  Not  a  tree  stood  near  to 
break  the  winds  which  hummed  softly  about  its 
lonely  corners.  Before  the  porch  spread  the  open 
chip-strewn  dooryard,  with  a  pile  of  wood  at  one 
side,  and  a  sawhorse  and  chopping-block  close  by. 
In  the  middle  of  the  yard  stood  the  tiny  gray  well- 
house,  with  bucket,  chain,  and  windlass,  and  mossy 
water-trough.  Some  thirty  or  forty  paces  beyond 
the  well-house  rose  the  old  gray  barn,  its  doors  sag- 
ging on  their  hinges,  and  wisps  of  hay  sticking 
out  through  the  loose  boards  enclosing  the  hay- 
mow, as  the  wisps  of  hair  stuck  out  through  the 
interstices  of  Mrs.  Bembridge's  cap.  Against  one 
end  of  the  barn,  adjoining  the  stable,  was  a  lean-to 
shed,  once  used  as  a  wagon-shelter,  but  now 
boarded  in  and  transformed  into  a  hen-house. 

Behind  the  barn  the  trees  began,  —  a  low,  dark 
green,  scattered  second  growth  of  spruce  and  fir, 
diversified  with  brown  stumps  and  mossy  hillocks, 
little  patches  of  blueberry  scrub  and  the  apple- 
cheeked  foxberry.  In  this  spacious  pasture-lot 
roamed  Mrs.  Bembridge's  red  and  white  cow,  kept 
from  trespassing  on  the  tilled  fields  by  a  straggling 
and  rather  dilapidated  snake  fence  which  ran  close 
behind  the  barn.  From  the  end  of  the  barn,  and 
from  the  bars  which  admitted  the  cow,  a  deeply 
rutted  lane  followed  the  fence  down  the  slope  till 


«  Old  Sis  "  83 

it  met  another  set  of  bars  and  united  itself  with  the 
Wood  Point  road.  The  potato-field  came  close  up 
to  the  lane  on  one  side;  but  the  other,  along  the 
fence,  was  bordered  by  a  series  of  tumbled  hillocks, 
which  crowded  into  the  fence  corners  and  were 
clothed  with  dense  patches  of  aromatic  tansy,  or 
vivid,  light  green  "  snake  brake,"  or  the  modest, 
purplish-blossomed  heal-all,  with  here  and  there  a 
tall  spike  of  mullein.  At  the  point  where  the  lane 
joined  the  Wood  Point  road  an  aggressively 
spreading  bed  of  tansy,  mantled  at  this  season  with 
its  dull  yellow  bloom,  had  things  all  its  own  way 
and  crowded  down  to  the  very  edges  of  the  high- 
way-bordering ditch.  The  open  fields  on  the  other 
three  sides  of  the  house  —  they  were  farmed  for 
Mrs.  Bembridge  by  a  neighbour,  working  "  on 
shares  "  —  were  planted  in  potatoes,  turnips,  buck- 
wheat, and  oats,  with  a  narrow  strip  of  flax;  and 
directly  under  the  two  windows  facing  the  road,  in 
a  little  patch  reserved  from  the  potato-field,  Mrs. 
Bembridge  had  her  garden.  It  was  neatly  laid  off 
in  very  small  beds;  and  fully  three-quarters  of 
these  were  devoted  to  "  yarbs,"  such  as  summer- 
savoury,  catnip,  peppermint,  sage,  thyme,  camomile, 
rosemary,  parsley,  and  chives.  A  bed  of  onions, 
one  of  carrots,  and  one  —  a  specially  large  one  — 
of  cabbages,  supplied  the  owner  with  all  the  variety 
she  craved  in  vegetables,  and  left  her  some  over 


84  The  Heart  That  Knows 

to  sell.  As  for  flowers,  she  admitted  only  two 
kinds,  —  a  patch  of  perennial  blue  "  bachelors'  but- 
tons," which  she  loved  for  their  own  sakes,  and  a 
thicket  of  splendid,  flaunting  sunflowers  at  the  other 
side  of  the  potato-field,  down  against  the  fence. 
The  sunflowers  she  grew  because  her  hens  liked  the 
seeds.  Across  the  upper  end  of  the  garden,  about 
seven  or  eight  feet  from  the  house,  so  as  to  leave 
space  for  the  banking  of  the  foundations  every  fall, 
ran  a  row  of  currant  bushes,  —  red,  white,  and 
black,  —  with  a  bush  of  wormwood  at  one  end  of 
the  row,  and  another  of  aromatic  southernwood,  or 
"  Old  Man,"  as  Mrs.  Bembridge  called  it,  at  the 
other. 

In  spite  of  this  rather  uncompromising  utilita- 
rianism of  hers,  Mrs.  Bembridge  had  her  own  ideas 
of  beauty,  and  loved  it  fervently  in  her  own  way. 
No  other  eyes  in  Westcock  revelled  more  ecstatic- 
ally than  hers  in  the  immeasurable,  elusive  changes 
of  light  and  shadow  that  swept  across  the  vastness 
of  the  marsh.  Great  space,  great  amplitudes  of 
colour,  delighted  her.  She  knew  every  gradation 
of  tone  in  the  purples  of  the  far  Minudie  hills,  in 
the  blue-gray  reflected  tints  and  the  golden  tawny 
self-colours  of  the  bay,  in  the  pale  greens  of  the 
endless  grass,  in  the  pink  and  saffron,  flame  and 
rose  transparencies  of  dawn.  Sunsets,  on  the  other 
hand,  she  took  little  account  of.  They  always  hap- 


«  Old  Sis "  85, 

pened  behind  the  house,  over  a  near,  uninteresting 
ridge,  and  just  in  the  direction  of  the  village  of 
Second  Westcock,  some  six  miles  away.  She  de- 
spised Second  Westcock,  and  took  no  interest  in 
anything  that  seemed  to  happen  there. 

Coming  nearer  home,  Mrs.  Bembridge's  indif- 
ference to  flowers  in  her  garden  by  no  means  meant 
insensibility  to  all  the  achievements  of  flowering 
nature.  When  her  potato-field  was  in  bloom,  the 
profusion  of  white  blossoms  star-strewn  and 
aerially  afloat  over  the  dense  green  of  the  leaves 
seemed  to  her  more  wonderful  than  any  garden  she 
had  ever  seen,  —  even  than  Luella's  patch  of  glory 
on  its  steep  slope  over  the  "  Bito/'  That  riband  of 
blue  flax-flowers  dividing  the  yellow-green  buck- 
wheat from  the  pea-green  oats  thrilled  her  as  the 
sunrise  sometimes  did.  And  the  buckwheat,  when 
it  bloomed,  —  that  sudden  lavish  outpouring  of 
pink- white  foam,  honey-scented,  and  drowsily  mus- 
ical with  bees, —  seemed  to  her  too  miraculously 
lovely  to  speak  of.  Her  delight  in  all  these  things 
she  regarded  as  a  sort  of  stolen  joy,  on  which  her 
own  grotesque  appearance  was  a  kind  of  jarring 
comment. 

To  her  way  of  thinking,  however,  there  was 
nothing  incongruous  in  her  finding  beauty  in  her 
homely,  necessary  hens.  Without  apology,  she 
prided  herself  on  having  the  prettiest  flock  of  hens 


The  Heart  That  Knows 


in  Westmoreland  County,  —  and  all  prime  layers, 
too.  They  were  of  an  uncommon  breed  known 
in  that  neighbourhood  as  "  Creepies."  Their  legs 
were  so  ridiculously  short  that  they  seemed  to 
creep  rather  than  walk;  and  scratching,  even  in 
the  most  seductive  of  garden-beds,  was  so  difficult 
that  they  seldom  yielded  to  the  temptation.  These 
plump,  exemplary  little  fowls  were  to  be  found 
throughout  Westcock  in  all  the  varied  minglings  of 
feather  which  characterize  the  common  dunghill 
tribe,  —  but  not  in  Mrs.  Bembridge's  flock,  which 
consisted  of  fifteen  hens  and  two  cocks.  Once  upon 
a  time  a  sea-captain,  returning  probably  direct  from 
a  Spanish  port,  had  brought  in  his  hen-coops  some 
thoroughbred  "  Blue  Andalusians,"  and  given  them 
to  certain  of  his  housekeeping  neighbours.  From 
this  persistent  strain  its  peculiar  and  very  beautiful 
colouring  had  spread,  till  specimens  might  be  found 
in  every  Westcock  barn-yard.  In  the  hens  it  was  a 
uniform,  unmarked,  clear  dove-blue,  all  over,  with 
blue  legs,  white  ear-lobes,  and  long,  overhanging, 
vivid  red  comb.  In  the  cocks  the  body  colour  was 
this  same  lovely  gray-blue,  but  the  flowing  neck- 
hackles,  saddle,  and  tail-feathers,  were  glossy  black, 
and  the  thin,  high,  scarlet  comb  stood  proudly  erect. 
By  careful  crossing  and  strict  selection  throughout 
a  number  of  seasons,  Mrs.  Bembridge  had  suc- 
ceeded in  bringing  her  flock  of  tl  Creepies  "  to  the 


"  Old  Sis  "  87 

"  Blue  Andalusian  "  colour ;  and  now  they  were 
the  envy  of  all  who  saw  them.  Of  course,  every 
clutch  of  chickens  would  throw  a  number  of 
"  sports,"  or  variations,  of  black,  white,  red,  brown, 
or  speckled ;  but  these  were  all  severely  weeded  out 
as  they  grew  up.  She  would  sell  no  eggs  for  hatch- 
ing; and  during  the  hatching  season  she  would 
sell  no  eggs  at  all,  but  rather  put  them  down  in  salt 
and  chaff  against  the  season  when  eggs  are  high. 

Next  to  a  sunrise  over  the  Minudie  hills,  or  a 
buckwheat-field  in  bloom  under  the  blue  of  noon, 
Mrs.  Bembridge  was  inclined  to  rank  the  picture 
of  her  trim  and  beautiful  flock  crowding  about  her 
feet  at  feeding  time.  They  were  tame  and  friendly, 
all  of  them.  With  these,  and  her  red  and  white 
cow,  and  her  big,  moon- faced  gray  cat  who  ignored 
her  socially  but  was  always  somewhere  around  at 
meal-times  and  milkings,  she  really  felt  small  need 
of  human  companionship  in  her  bleak  gray  house 
on  the  windy  upland. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

LUELLA   AND   THE   BLUE   HEN 

ON  that  morning  when  Mrs.  Bembridge,  in  her 
magenta  sontag  and  perky  little  cap,  limped  labori- 
ously down  to  the  "  Bito,"  to  make  her  purchases 
of  Mr.  Baisley,  —  and,  if  fortune  should  favour 
her,  to  learn  something  of  Luella,  —  her  temper 
was  by  no  means  less  crisp  than  usual.  Her  heart 
was  aching  heavily  for  the  girl;  and  at  the  same 
time  she  was  fretted  with  a  curiosity  which  she 
would  have  scorned  to  confess.  Added  to  this, 
it  was  one  of  those  days  when,  without  any  rhyme 
or  reason  that  she  could  perceive,  her  "  rheumatiz  " 
was  "  actin'  out."  Hers  was  the  mood  in  which 
the  wise  are  wont  to  resent  most  indignantly  the 
foolishness  of  fools.  She  hated  to  be  gracious  to 
Mr.  Baisley  (in  her  thoughts  she  called  him  "  Old 
Baisley"),  while  making  her  purchases,  but  she 
constrained  herself  to  a  fair  imitation  of  geniality, 
as  a  means  of  hearing  something  about  Luella.  To 
her  eyes  that  morning  the  storekeeper  had  never 
before  looked  so  hatchet-faced  and  mean.  She  had 
never  before  so  disliked  the  fashion  in  which  his 

83 


Luella  and  the  Blue  Hen  89 

stiff  and  meagre  whiskers  were  brushed  straight 
forward  to  balance,  as  it  were,  the  manner  in  which 
his  hair  was  "  slicked  "  straight  back. 

When  she  had  very  slowly  dug  out  her  battered 
wallet  from  the  secret  depths  of  her  pocket,  and 
fumblingly  counted  out  the  change,  and  with  great 
deliberation  restored  the  wallet  to  its  hiding-place, 
she  gathered  up  her  parcels  and  turned  to  go.  She 
had  not  found  words  to  make  any  inquiry  about 
Luella.  To  mention  the  poor  child's  name,  she  felt, 
would  be  something  like  an  intrusion  upon  her  sor- 
row. But  this  very  silence  was  so  unusual  in  itself 
that  Mr.  Baisley  could  not  refrain  from  comment- 
ing upon  it. 

"  You  hain't  inquired  for  Luelly,  Mrs.  Bern- 
bridge!"  (Behind  her  back  he  called  her  "Old 
Sis;  "  but  a  customer  is  a  customer!)  "  I  reckon 
it's  the  first  time  in  ten  year  you've  come  into  the 
store,  an'  not  spoke  of  her  first  thing.  You've  al- 
ways seemed  to  think  a  sight  of  Luelly." 

Mrs.  Bembridge  turned  back  to  the  counter  with 
alacrity. 

"  Y'ain't  fur  wrong  on  that  pint,  Mr.  Baisley," 
she  responded.  "  I  jest  do  think  a  sight  of  Luelly 
Warden.  How  be  she  these  days  ?  " 

Mr.  Baisley  leaned  across  the  counter,  and 
scanned  her  weather-beaten  old  face. 

"  'Tain't  possible  you  hain't  heard! "  he  ejacu- 


90  The  Heart  That  Knows 

lated.  Then  he  drew  back,  as  if  impatient  at  his 
own  folly.  "  Tut !  Tut !  of  course  you've  heard. 
They've  got  hold  of  it  from  the  Joggins  to  She- 
mogue  by  this  time,  I  calculate." 

"  Oh,  mebbe  I've  hearrj,  an'  mebbe  I  hain't 
hearn !  "  she  answered,  non-committally.  "  An' 
what  one  hears  in  Westcock  —  mebbe  it's  true  an' 
mebbe  it  ain't  true!  How  is  Luelly?" 

"  Oh,  she's  well  enough,  I  calculate,"  chuckled 
Mr.  Baisley.  "  She's  havin'  a  gay  enough  time,  I 
know  that,  a-stoppin'  up  to  the  parsonage,  an' 
leavin'  her  old  uncle  to  do  her  work  'round  the 
house!" 

The  old  woman  glared  at  him.  Since  Luella  was 
not  at  home,  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
holding  herself  under  an  unnatural  restraint.  The 
speech  was  harmless,  but  it  gave  her  overwrought 
feelings  their  opportunity. 

"  Abner  Baisley,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  that 
grated  in  her  throat,  "  you'd  oughter  be  ashamed 
of  yerself,  you'd  ought,  to  talk  that  way  of  the 
child.  An'  you  her  own  uncle.  Y'ain't  got  no 
more  heart  in  you'n  a  pig's  foot."  And  bringing 
down  her  heavy  stick  with  a  bang  on  the  floor,  she 
limped  heavily  and  haughtily  forth,  to  do  battle 
with  valiant  tongue  against  any  enemies  of  Luella 
whom  she  might  encounter. 

This  undertaking-  gave  her  a  busy  day,  and  when, 


Luella  and  the  Blue  Hen  91 

toward  milking-time,  she  hobbled  back  to  the  little 
gray  house,  her  cap  awry  and  her  hair  bristling 
beyond  its  wont,  she  left  a  trail  of  cowed  antago- 
nists behind  her. 

It  was  not  till  the  following  morning,  however, 
that  she  was  rewarded  with  the  sight  of  Luella. 
The  girl  came  over  to  see  her.  It  was  at  Mrs. 
Goodridge's  suggestion ;  for  it  was  Mrs.  Goodridge 
who  always  thought  of  these  timely  and  fitting  little 
things  for  people  to  do.  After  breakfast,  when  the 
rector  had  started  away  alone  on  one  of  his  long 
drives  through  the  woods  to  Dorchester,  and  Luella 
had  helped  Mary  Dugan  wash  up  the  breakfast 
dishes  and  get  the  vegetables  ready  to  be  cooked 
for  dinner,  Mrs.  Goodridge  said: 

"  Why  don't  you  run  across  the  fields,  dear,  and 
see  Old  Sis?  She's  just  devoted  to  you.  And 
there's  no  one  who  will  stick  up  for  you  more 
loyally.  She'll  be  so  pleased  at  your  coming  to  her 
of  your  own  accord!  " 

Luella  shrank  for  a  moment.  She  could  not  yet 
bear  to  meet  questioning  eyes  —  which  all  seemed 
to  her  either  hostile  or  derisive.  But  Mrs.  Good- 
ridge—  who  wanted  to  get  her  out  among  the 
fields  and  trees  which  she  knew  she  loved  —  an- 
swered her  unspoken  thought. 

"  Across  the  fields,  and  through  the  pasture, 
dear!  You  won't  meet  anybody,  going  that  way. 


92  The  Heart  That  Knows 

You  know  the  path  back  of  the  barn,  there.  It'll 
bring  you  straight  to  her  place." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Luella.  "  I'll  go  an'  see 
if  she's  got  any  more  of  those  pretty  blue  chickens 
hatched  out.  I  recollect  she  had  two  hens  setting 
awhile  ago." 

"  And  give  her  this  tea,  with  my  love,  Luella," 
continued  Mrs.  Goodridge,  getting  out  from  the 
cupboard  a  little  square  package,  covered  with  tin 
foil  and  red  and  black  hieroglyphics.  "  Tell  her  it  is 
something  very  special,  just  sent  to  me  from  Fred- 
ericton ;  and  I'm  not  giving  away  any  of  it,  except 
this  package  to  her.  And,  oh,  be  sure  and  tell  her 
not  to  use  more  than  half  as  much  as  she  uses  of 
your  uncle's  tea,  for  it's  more  than  twice  as  strong." 

"  Yes,  ma'am! "  said  Luella;  and  set  out  to  find 
the  path  behind  the  barn. 

There  was  no  mistaking  it,  worn  as  it  was  by  the 
passing  of  many  feet,  —  for  the  country  folk  love 
a  short  cut,  as  much  as  they  hate  walking  the  dusty 
highroad.  Skirting  widely  the  straw-littered  space 
behind  the  stable,  where  the  manure-heaps  had 
been,  the  path  went  between  two  huge  fir-trees, 
then  out  across  a  field  of  red  clover  to  the  fence 
that  bounded  the  young  fir-woods  and  Mrs.  Bern- 
bridge's  pasture.  So  narrow  was  the  path  that 
the  heavy  purple  clover-heads,  swaying  under  the 
embraces  of  innumerable  great  black  and  gol<4 


Luella  and  the  Blue  Hen  93 

bumblebees,  brushed  thickly  against  Luella's  knees 
as  she  passed.  Scents  of  bloom  and  honey  steamed 
up  warmly  about  her,  and  the  humming  of  the 
bees  was  curiously  comforting  to  her.  She  was< 
beginning  to  feel  more  like  herself,  and  so  was  able 
to  notice  these  things  —  even  to  be  glad  of  them  in 
a  numb  sort  of  way.  The  hopeful  cheer  of  the  par- 
sonage, with  Mrs.  Goodridge's  oracular  declara- 
tions that  "  it  will  all  come  out  all  right,"  and  the 
rector's  sanguine  confidence  that  Jim  would  send 
some  word  to  her  from  St.  John,  had  for  the  mo- 
ment lightened  the  load  of  her  despair.  They  could 
not  know,  of  course,  —  no  one  but  herself  and  Jim 
could  know,  —  what  cause  there  was  for  despair. 
But  even  so,  even  now,  a  letter  from  Jim  might 
make  things  all  right,  except  for  the  weary  waiting 
till  his  return.  Surely,  surely,  that  letter  would 
come.  There  was  nothing  conceivable  to  her  that 
would  make  Jim  such  a  monster  of  cruelty  as  to 
leave  her  without  that  letter.  Yes,  it  must  come, 
in  a  few  days  now.  The  rector  plainly  expected 
it.  And  Mrs.  Goodridge,  too.  And  though  it 
would  not  ease  her  aching  loss,  it  would  set  her 
right  before  her  friends  and  neighbours.  Staying 
herself  to  courage  with  this  hope,  she  drew  in  deep 
breaths  of  the  scented  air,  forced  down  the  terror 
in  her  heart,  and  tried  to  take  some  pleasure  in  the 
sunlit  world. 


94  The  Heart  That  Knows 

Having  crossed  the  field,  she  found  a  pile  of 
stones  on  each  side  of  the  fence,  forming  a  sort 
of  rude  stile;  and  here,  too,  she  found  Mrs.  Bern- 
bridge's  red  and  white  cow,  gazing  longingly  over 
the  fence  at  the  clover,  discontented  with  the  sweet 
but  scanty  grasses  which  grew  among  the  young 
firs.  Luella  murmured,  "Co'  Bossy!  Co'  Bossy!" 
and  tried  to  pat  the  mild-eyed  animal  on  the  nose. 
But  the  cow  tossed  her  horns  with  a  resentful  snort, 
and  pranced  away  as  if  Luella  had  insulted  her. 

"  Queer ! "  mused  the  girl  as  she  walked  on. 
"  The  critters  don't  seem  to  like  any  one  that's  un- 
happy !  I  wonder  how  they  know !  " 

The  little  path,  trodden  deeply  into  the  turf, 
wound  this  way  and  that  to  avoid  clumps  of  green 
fir  saplings  or  hillocks  of  moss  and  vine.  Not 
heavy-scented  like  the  clover-field,  this  woody  pas- 
ture had  nevertheless  a  perfume  of  its  own,  — 
clean,  elusively  pungent,  with  subtle  balsamic 
tang  which  thrilled  the  girl's  sensitive  nostrils. 
Once  a  fragrance  more  pronounced,  though  still 
most  delicate,  caught  her  notice;  and  she  knelt  be- 
side a  pink-dotted  hillock  to  gather  a  bunch  of  the 
frail,  twin-flowered  Linnaa  for  Mrs.  Bembridge. 
But  remembering  in  a  flash  how  Jim  had  once 
picked  these  blossoms  for  her  on  Westcock  Hill, 
she  crushed  them  violently  to  her  mouth,  flung 
them  far  into  the  bushes,  and  hurried  on,  seeing  no 


Luella  and  the  Blue  Hen  95 

more  of  the  beauty  of  the  day.  It  was  all  she  could 
do  to  keep  from  turning  and  fleeing  back  to  shut 
herself  up  in  her  room  at  the  parsonage. 

Mastering  herself  with  strong  resolution,  how- 
ever, she  went  on  swiftly,  seeing  nothing  till  she 
found  herself  confronted  by  the  blank  back  of  Mrs. 
Bembridge's  barn.  Then,  pulling  herself  together 
violently  and  trying  to  assume  a  defensive  face  of 
unconcern,  she  followed  around  the  corner  of  the 
barn;  and  there  was  the  old  magenta  sontag  at 
the  well. 

At  the  sight  of  Luella  Mrs.  Bembridge  dropped 
her  bucket  and  came  stumping  toward  the  bars. 
But  Luella  sprang  nimbly  over  the  fence  at  the 
nearest  point. 

"Why,  if 'tain'tLuelly!  My  very  Luelly !  "  ex- 
claimed the  old  woman,  cheerily.  "  Where  you  ben 
this  long  time?  I  hain't  seed  you  for  weeks." 

"Been  home!"  replied  Luella,  obviously  avoid- 
ing her  keen  eyes.  "  Visiting  at  the  parsonage 
since  day  before  yesterday,  —  and  here's  some  ex- 
tra special  kind  of  tea  Mrs.  Goodridge  sent  over 
to  you.  She  said  to  give  you  her  love,  Mrs.  Bem- 
bridge, an'  tell  you  not  to  use  half  as  much  of  this 
tea  as  you  would  of  Uncle  Abner's,  seeing  as  how 
it's  more  than  twice  as  strong." 

She  had  rattled  on  with  a  volubility  altogether 
unlike  her  usual  deliberation  of  speech;  and  with 


g6  The  Heart  That  Knows 

a  fierce  pang  of  compassion  the  old  woman  had 
noted  the  change  in  her  face,  —  the  aging  lines, 
the  pallor,  the  sunken  shadows  beneath  the  eyes. 

"  Bless  yer  dear  heart,"  said  Mrs  Bembridge, 
taking  the  package  and  sniffing  at  it  with  critical 
approval  before  consigning  it  to  her  deep  pocket, 
"  Bless  yer  sweet  heart,  but  it's  a  sight  for  sore  eyes 
ye  be !  I  was  down  to  the  '  Bito '  yesterday  in  the 
hopes  of  seein'  you ;  >  an'  yer  uncle  told  me  as  how 
ye  was  right  smart.  But  ye  don't  egzactly  look 
right  smart  this  mornin',  Sweetie!" 

With  a  brave  determination  that  she  would  look 
"  right  smart,"  —  that  she  would  not  wear  her 
heart  on  her  sleeve,  —  Luella  lifted  the  troubled 
deeps  of  her  blue  eyes  squarely  to  the  speaker's 
face,  and  answered,  "  Oh,  it's  just  headache."  The 
next  instant  she  clenched  her  hands,  and  half-turned 
as  if  to  run  away.  Informed  by  wide  experience 
and  untrammelled  sympathies,  the  wise  old  eyes 
of  Mrs.  Bembridge  had  looked  straight  into  her 
soul.  They  had  surprised  her  secret.  Loving  the 
girl  as  she  did,  the  old  woman  was  startled,  and 
shrank  at  a  sudden  vision  of  the  misery  heaping  up 
for  her  ahead.  But  she  removed  instantly  from 
Luella's  face  the  inquisition  of  her  gaze,  and  looked 
away  with  a  quick  affectation  of  having  seen  noth- 
ing. With  a  caressing  hand  on  the  girl's  arm  she 
led  her  toward  the  barn. 


Luella  and  the  Blue  Hen  97 

"  Come,  Sweetie,"  she  said,  "  I've  got  somethin' 
to  show  you !  " 

Luella  was  trembling.  She  opened  her  mouth 
to  speak,  but  no  sound  came.  However,  Mrs.  Bern- 
bridge  was  not  looking  at  her ;  and  in  a  moment  she 
regained  some  self-control. 

"  I  was  just  wondering,"  she  managed  to  say, 
in  a  small,  hard  voice,  "  if  any  of  those  hens  you 
had  setting  had  come  off  yet !  " 

"  Ye've  hit  it,  Luelly!"  cried  Mrs.  Bembridge, 
with  a  forced  chuckle.  "  I've  got  the  purtiest 
brood  here,  jest  hatched,  that  ever  I  seen,  —  eleven 
out  o'  thirteen  eggs,  an'  all  blue  but  three.  They 
was  pretty  nigh  all  hatched  last  night,  so  by  now 
they  must  be "  —  but  here  she  stopped  speaking, 
and  stepped  ahead  hastily  to  fumble  with  the  big 
wooden  latch  of  the  barn  door.  In  reality,  she 
could  not  let  Luella  see  her  face  just  then;  and  she 
could  not  utter  another  word.  She  had  suddenly 
found  herself  choking  with  rage  at  thought  of  the 
man  who  could  desert  the  girl  he  loved  at  such  a 
time.  Her  big,  rugged  hands  shook  with  a  crav- 
ing to  get  their  grip  on  Jim  Calder's  throat;  and 
for  some  seconds  her  difficulty  in  working  the  latch 
was  not  feigned.  Then,  as  the  door  opened,  she 
trusted  her  voice  again. 

"  By  now,"  she  continued,  "  they  must  be  'bout 
ready  to  come  off.  I'll  git  you  to  help  me,  Sweetie, 


98  The  Heart  That  Knows 

if  ye'll  be  so  kind.  I  know  ye're  a  right  smart  hand 
with  chickens.  Look  out  for  yer  fingers,  though. 
Old  Lady'll  peck  some." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  that,"  said  Luella. 

"  She's  the  Grossest  old  thing  ever,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Bembridge,  talking  hard.  "  But  she's  the  best  set- 
ter and  mother  in  the  flock.  Them  Spanish  Blues 
ain't  much  good  as  setters  nor  mothers.  They're 
jest  all  for  layin',  an'  if  they  do  set,  they  like  as  not 
gits  tired  of  it  in  a  week,  and  quits  jest  when  the 
eggs  is  spiled,  an'  goes  to  work  layin'  agin.  The 
Creepies  on  the  other  hand,  —  as  you  know  well, 
Sweetie,  —  they're  jest  the  setters  an'  mothers, 
bein'  quiet  dispositioned,  an'  so  short  in  the  legs  it's 
most  the  same  thing  to  'em  whether  they  stand  up 
or  set  down.  'Tain't  no  strain  on  'em  to  keep  on 
settin'.  Now,  this  new  breed  o'  mine,  of  course,  - 
the  '  Creepy  Blues,'  I  calls  'em,  —  they've  got  the 
natures  of  the  two  breeds  so  mixed  up  like  ye  can't 
never  tell  which  is  goin'  to  crop  out.  Mostly, 
they're  great  layers,  but  kinder  flighty  when  it 
comes  to  the  question  of  raisin'  a  family.  Seems 
like  mebbe  the  strength  of  the  Creepy  blood  had 
been  all  took  up  in  the  job  of  shortenin'  down  them 
long  Spanish  legs.  Well,  they  done  it ! " 

During  this  chatter  they  had  entered  the  pleasant 
gloom  of  the  barn,  which  was  crossed  with  long, 
dusty-golden  bars  of  sunlight  streaming  through 


Luella  and  the  Blue  Hen  99 

the  cracks  between  the  boards.  At  the  inmost 
corner  of  the  barn  floor,  against  the  front  of  the 
unused  manger,  stood  a  half-barrel,  filled  with  hay 
\o  within  a  few  inches  of  the  top.  As  they  came 
to  this  snug  nest  a  harsh,  scolding  squawl  issued 
from  it,  and  Luella  saw  a  small  blue  hen,  which 
ruffled  up  its  feathers  and  threatened  her  savagely 
with  open  beak.  Squatting  down  cross-legged  be- 
side the  nest,  Luella  offered  the  palm  of  her  left 
hand,  half-opened,  for  the  angry  hen  to  peck  at. 
Her  right  hand  she  slipped  gently  under  the  fowl's 
hot,  denuded  breast,  among  the  warm  little  balls  of 
down  which  she  felt  huddling  there.  Lifting  one 
softly  forth,  she  held  it  up  to  the  light,  cherishing 
it  in  both  hands.  It  was  all  a  tender  Maltese  blue, 
softer  than  velvet,  with  tiny  glossy  dark  beak  and 
feet.  It  snuggled  its  body  against  her  warm  palm, 
and  its  round,  dark,  liquid  eyes  gazed  forth  trust- 
fully from  between  her  finger  and  thumb,  taking 
a  first  look  upon  the  world  beyond  the  egg-shell 
wall. 

"  Oh,"  murmured  Luella,  with  a  long  sigh, 
"  ain't  they  the  sweetest  things  ?  "  And  after  hold- 
ing it  to  her  cheek  for  a  moment  she  deposited  it 
in  the  hollow  of  her  apron. 

"  You  bring  the  chicks,  an'  I'll  lug  along  Old 
Lady  under  my  arm.  The  pen's  all  ready,"  said 
Mrs.  Bembridge,  anxious  to  give  the  girl  some- 


IOO  The  Heart  That  Knows 

thing  to  do.  One  after  one,  ignoring  the  strokes 
of  the  furiously  protesting  mother,  Luella  drew 
forth  the  chickens  and  gathered  them  in  her  lap, 
—  a  warm,  huddling,  peeping,  helpless  but  unter- 
rified  little  group,  the  most  winsome  of  younglings. 
As  Luella's  head  bent  low  above  them,  hot  tears 
began  to  drop  on  her  cherishing  hands.  Mrs.  Bern- 
bridge  saw  the  tears.  She  dropped  the  indignant 
hen  back  on  to  the  nest,  and  in  spite  of  her  rheuma- 
tism plumped  right  down  on  her  knees  at  Luella's 
side. 

"  There,  there !  "  she  murmured,  with  the  same 
formula  of  soothing  that  had  come  to  Mrs.  Good- 
ridge's  lips.  She  pulled  the  girl's  head  and 
shoulders  down  upon  her  broad  bosom,  and 
crooned  over  her.  "  There !  there !  Don't  be 
scairt,  Sweetie.  There's  them  as  is  your  friends 
whatever  happens.  There's  them  as  is  your  friends, 
an'  nothin'  ain't  agoin'  to  turn  them  agin  you,  what- 
ever happens.  Remember  that,  Sweetie,  —  what- 
ever happens!" 

Luella,  for  a  moment,  closed  her  eyes,  and  leaned 
against  this  sturdy  support.  It  was  now  an  un- 
speakable relief  to  her  to  feel  that  Mrs.  Bembridge 
understood.  With  one  hand  she  covered  tenderly 
the  huddling  little  ones  in  her  lap,  while  with  the 
other  she  groped  for  the  old  woman's  hand  and 
gave  it  a  grateful  squeeze.  Then,  not  being  of  the 


Luella  and  the  Blue  Hen  101 

kind  that  leans  long  on  any  one,  she  straightened 
up,  and  resolutely  shook  the  hair  back  from  her 
face. 

"  You  are  so  good  to  me,  so  good  to  me.  I  just 
can't  tell  you  how  I  feel  about  it.  But,  oh,  Mrs. 
Bembridge,  —  do  you  think  there's  any  chance  of 
me  gittin'  a  letter  from  St.  John?  The  rector 
appears  to  think  there's  sure  to  be  some  kind  of 
word  from  St.  John!  " 

Mrs.  Bembridge  had  not  hitherto  thought  of  this 
as  a  probability  at  all.  Now,  her  opinion  was  that 
if  Jim  Calder  could  go  off  as  he  did,  he  wasn't  likely 
to  repent,  or  come  to  his  senses,  at  St.  John.  She 
knew  of  no  special  virtue  in  St.  John  to  cause  such 
a  reformation.  She  picked  up  the  scolding  hen 
again  and  tucked  it  safely  under  her  arm  before 
answering.  Then  she  said: 

"  Why,  surely,  Sweetie !  The  ship  must  be  in 
there  by  this  time.  Like  as  not  there's  a  letter  on 
the  way  now.  But  let  me  tell  you,  whether  you  git 
a  letter  or  don't  git  no  letter,  don't  you  go  fer  to 
break  your  little  heart  an'  cry  your  sweet  eyes  out 
over  a  man,  not  over  the  best  that  ever  lived,  — 
an'  that  ain't  no  Jim  Calder.  They  ain't  none  of 
'em  worth  it,  Sweetie,  —  nary  a  one  of  'em.  Bring 
along  the  chickens,  now."  And  shaking  her  griz- 
zled head  reminiscently  she  lead  the  way  out  into 
the  sunlight,  the  squirming,  hysterical  hen  held 


102  The  Heart  That  Knows 

inflexibly  under  her  left  arm.  As  for  Luella,  as 
usual  when  she  had  nothing  very  definite  to  say, 
she  held  her  tongue,  and  followed  obediently  with 
her  lapful  of  peeping  chickens. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE   INTERVIEWING   OF   JIM'S    MOTHER 

THREE  days  later,  after  Luella  had  returned  to 
her  home  above  the  "  Bito,"  a  letter  did  come  with 
the  St.  John  postmark  on  its  envelope.  Moreover, 
it  was  in  Jim  Calder's  handwriting,  —  with  which 
the  village  postmaster,  old  Mr.  Smith,  was  quite 
familiar.  But  it  was  not  for  Luella.  It  was  for 
Mrs.  Calder.  Within  an  hour  its  coming  was 
known  from  the  Bito  to  Wood  Point;  and  it  was 
known,  also,  that  no  word  had  come  to  Luella.  To 
her,  so  had  she  set  her  hope  upon  it,  this  was  almost 
like  a  second  desertion.  But  now  the  blow  hard- 
ened her.  She  held  her  head  high,  and  forced  her- 
self to  smile,  and  eyed  her  world  of  scrutinizers 
defiantly. 

Immediately,  of  course,  Jim's  mother  had  callers. 
She  was  the  proud  possessor  of  exclusive  informa- 
tion, which  it  was  hoped  she  would  be  liberal  to 
divulge.  The  callers  were  all  rudely  disappointed. 
Beyond  the  two  facts  that  she  had  received  a  letter, 
and  that  the  letter  was  from  Jim,  she  would  tell 
nothing.  When  asked,  —  as  she  was,  brazenly, 

103 


104  The  Heart  That  Knows 

by  certain  of  the  bolder  sort,  —  if  Jim  said  any- 
thing about  Luella  Warden,  her  only  answer  was 
a  snort  of  indignant  scorn  and  an  abrupt  termina- 
tion of  the  interview.  In  the  course  of  the  day, 
therefore,  public  sentiment  veered  back  somewhat 
toward  Luella's  side.  As  Mrs.  Calder's  stock  went 
down,  Jim's,  to  some  extent,  depreciated  with  it; 
and  folk  were  found  to  suggest  that,  if  Jim  were 
anything  like  his  mother,  maybe  it  wasn't  Luella 
that  was  in  the  wrong. 

Next  to  Luella  herself,  it  was,  perhaps,  Mrs. 
Goodridge  who  was  most  upset  over  the  absence  of 
news  from  St.  John.  The  rector,  for  his  part,  was 
more  grieved  than  surprised.  He  wrote  a  letter  of 
stinging  rebuke  and  stern  demand,  addressed  it  to 
Jim  in  care  of  Captain  Britton,  and  sent  it  to  the 
chief  owners  to  be  forwarded  so  that  it  would  catch 
the  G.  G.  Goodridge  at  the  first  port  where  she 
should  stop  to  discharge  cargo,  Matanzas  or  an- 
other. This  done,  he  confined  himself  to  befriend- 
ing Luella  by  showing  in  every  possible  way  his 
unshaken  confidence  in  her.  But  the  impetuous 
heart  of  his  wife  could  not  rest  content  with  this. 
She  craved  immediate  information.  When  she 
learned  of  Mrs.  Calder's  letter,  and  that  stony-tem- 
pered lady's  refusal  to  say  anything  about  what 
was  in  the  letter,  she  put  bit  and  bridle  on  her  in- 
dignation, smoothed  her  countenance  to  gracious- 


The  Interviewing  of  Jim's  Mother    105 

ness,  and  set  out,  without  consulting  the  rector,  to 
see  what  she  could  do. 

The  garden  in  front  of  Mrs.  Calder's  house  was 
all  one  summer  smile  with  blossoms.  The  red 
geraniums  in  the  windows,  glowing  through  the 
snowy  curtains,  welcomed  her  auspiciously;  and 
the  incoming  tide  clamoured  musically  in  the  red 
channel  of  Tantramar,  a  hundred  yards  away, 
across  the  field.  But  not  at  all  auspicious  was  the 
welcome  of  Mrs.  Calder.  Forbiddingly  civil,  she 
ushered  Mrs.  Goodridge  into  the  cluttered  and 
stuffy  stiffness  of  the  front  parlour,  grudgingly 
throwing  up  one  blind  to  admit  the  unaccustomed 
sunlight.  All  Mrs.  Goodridge's  honeyed  praises 
of  the  room  and  its  art  treasures  —  its  flowers  of 
wax  and  paper,  its  wool-worked,  framed  texts  on 
the  wall,  its  gorgeous-blossomed  wall-paper  and 
the  stupendous  purple  roses  on  its  rag-carpet  — 
could  not  soften  Mrs.  Calder's  long  upper  lip  into 
complacency.  She  was  aggressively  on  her  guard. 
Mrs.  Goodridge  talked  on  safe  topics,  and  managed 
to  make  each  topic  convey  some  more  or  less  veiled 
compliment  to  her  hearer,  or  to  Jim.  As  a  rule, 
she  was  the  most  impatiently  direct  of  women.  But 
she  believed  herself  something  of  a  diplomat.  At 
last,  however,  Mrs.  Calder's  unresponsiveness  be- 
gan to  fatigue  her.  She  had  no  taste  for  coldly 
monosyllabic  replies.  That  unyielding  granitic 


106  The  Heart  That  Knows 

upper  lip  exasperated  her.  A  faint  flush  began  to 
steal  up  over  her  fair,  smooth  face,  faint  gleams  of 
anger  to  gather  into  her  fearless  blue  eyes.  All  at 
once  she  dropped  her  diplomatic  manner,  as  it  were, 
with  a  slam. 

"  Mrs.  Calder,"  she  said,  sitting  up  very  straight, 
and  just  the  faintest  tinge  of  superiority  filtering 
into  her  tones,  "  I've  come  to  ask  you  if  your  son 
has  said  anything  in  his  letter  which  can  throw 
any  light  on  the  unhappy  affair  which  we  all  know 
about.  Your  son,  as  you  know,  has  been  very  dear 
to  both  Mr.  Goodridge  and  myself ;  and  Mr.  Good- 
ridge  has  done  everything  he  could  to  forward  his 
career,  —  as  I  need  not  remind  you,  I  am  sure. 
That  good  and  sweet  girl,  Luella  Warden,  is  also 
very  dear  to  us,  and  we  cannot  see  her  suffer  as  she 
does  without  making  every  effort  to  help  her.  She 
does  not  know  why  this  blow  has  fallen  upon  her. 
The  suspense  is  simply  killing  her.  And  not  a  word 
of  any  kind  has  reached  her.  She  is  all  in  the 
dark.  I  have  come  to  Jim's  mother  in  the  hope  that 
I  may  learn  something  to  help  her.  Can  you  tell 
me  if  Jim  has  said  anything  to  you  that  would  ex- 
plain his  jilting  of  the  poor  child  the  way  he 
did?" 

Mrs.  Calder  set  her  lips,  and  answered,  coldly : 
"  If  my  son'd  wanted  that  Luelly  Warden  should 
git  any  word,  likely  he'd  have  writ  to  her  himself. 


The  Interviewing  of  Jim's  Mother   107 

I've  had  two  letters  from  him,  —  shows  he  kin 
write !  " 

Mrs.  Goodridge  held  her  wrath  in  hand,  but  her 
eyes  flamed  disconcertingly.  She  was  silent  for 
perhaps  a  full  minute,  looking  her  hostess  through 
and  through.  It  had  always  been  a  matter  of  pri- 
vate pride  with  Mrs.  Calder  that  she  was  "  jest  as 
good  as  anybody."  But  now,  in  some  unaccount- 
able way,  she  was  being  made  to  feel  herself  dis- 
tinctly inferior  to  Mrs.  Goodridge.  Her  determina- 
tion was  not  in  the  least  shaken.  But  her  pride 
was  wilting  badly.  She  was  shrinking  back  into 
the  sullen  obstinacy  of  an  inferior.  Presently  Mrs. 
Goodridge  spoke  again.  Her  tone  was  stern,  but 
her  words  were  persuasive. 

"  But,  surely,  Mrs.  Calder,  —  I  know  you  are 
a  good,  a  Christian  woman,  —  surely,  you  cannot 
wish  that  a  poor,  hurt  child  like  Luella  should 
suffer  any  more  bitterly  than  she  has  been  made  to 
suffer  already,  if  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  do 
anything  for  her.  Just  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Calder. 
Why,  to  look  at  her  face  you  would  say  she  had 
aged  ten  years,  —  since  Jim  went  off  and  deserted 
her!" 

Mrs.  Calder  did  not  weaken,  —  not  in  the  least ; 
but  she  felt  uncomfortable.  She  looked  uneasily  at 
the  coarse,  gnarled  hands  awkwardly  folded  in  her 
lap,  gave  them  a  twist  in  her  apron,  and  glanced 


io8          The  Heart  That  Knows 

out  of  the  window  with  an  assumption  of  indiffer- 
ence. Then  she  turned  and  forced  herself  to  meet 
Mrs.  Goodridge's  eye. 

"  I  don't  need  nobody  to  learn  me  my  duty, 
ma'am!  "  she  answered,  loftily;  then  looked  away 
again  through  the  window.  She  regretted  that 
"  ma'am,"  as  soon  as  she  had  uttered  it. 

"  Of  course  not,  Mrs.  Calder,"  —  and  Mrs. 
Goodridge's  tone  was  as  if  she  said  "  My  good 
woman."  "  Of  course  you  do  not  need  to  be 
taught  your  duty.  That's  why  I  am  so  confident 
that  you  will  do  it.  It  is  all  a  dreadful  mystery, 
this  affair.  I'm  quite  sure  there  has  been  some  ter- 
rible mistake.  It  is  not  at  all  like  Jim.  If  he  has 
told  you  anything,  I  beg  you  to  be  frank  with  me, 
that  we  may  try  to  save  these  two  children  from 
ruining  their  lives." 

"  What  Jim's  writ  to  me,"  answered  Mrs.  Calder, 
sullenly,  "  ain't  nobody's  business  but  his'n  an' 
mine.  You  may  as  well  understand  that  right  off, 
first  as  last." 

Mrs.  Goodridge  stood  up,  to  the  full  height  of 
her  stately  figure,  and  her  voice  rang  sternly : 

"  At  least,  you  are  a  mother,  Mrs.  Calder. 
Would  you  like  a  daughter  of  yours  to  be  treated 
as  Luella  Warden  is  being  treated?" 

Mrs.  Calder  felt  that  she  was  by  no  means  cutting 
the  figure  she  had  planned  to  cut  in  this  interview. 


The  Interviewing  of  Jim's  Mother    109 

She  began  to  grow  abashed,  and  so  took  refuge  in 
anger. 

"That  hussy!"  she  cried.  "That  tow-haired, 
deceitful  hussy,  what's  stole  my  boy's  heart  away 
from  his  old  mother,  and  stole  his  sense  out  of  his 
head  with  them  innocent-lookin'  chaney-blue  eyes 
of  hern !  Let  her  git  what  she  desarves !  Let  her 
git  what  she  desarves!  I'm  glad  ther's  some  jus- 
tice in  this  world.  She'll  git  nothin'  out  of  me,  to 
my  dyin'  day.  The  hussy ! "  And  her  voice 
shrilled  to  a  hiss. 

"  Shame  on  you !  Shame  on  you !  You  are  a 
wicked  and  malignant  old  woman,"  said  Mrs. 
Goodridge.  She  spoke  slowly,  and  in  a  quiet  voice, 
but  the  indignant  scorn  suppressed  behind  her  voice 
propelled  every  word  into  her  hearer's  very  heart. 
"  I  am  filled  with  astonishment  that  Jim  Calder 
should  have  a  mother  like  you.  I'm  sorry  I  have 
been  so  misguided  as  to  look  for  anything  better  in 
you.  Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Calder!" 

Her  face  was  calm  with  apparent  self-possession, 
and  the  flush  had  faded  out  of  it.  She  would  not 
condescend  to  show  her  anger.  She  would  not  let 
this  wretched  old  woman  think  herself  capable  of 
upsetting  her.  But  in  the  folds  of  her  ample  skirt 
her  hands  were  clenched  till  the  nails  went  white. 
She  strode  to  the  closed  front  door,  then  stopped, 


HO  The  Heart  That  Knows 

and  turned  and  eyed  the  stolid  figure  in  the  rock- 
ing-chair. 

"Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Calder!"  she  repeated, 
with  a  penetrating  emphasis. 

The  angry  woman  understood  that  emphasis  very 
well,  and  would  have  liked  to  ignore  it.  But  she 
could  not.  After  a  moment's  struggle  she  got  up, 
and  came  and  opened  the  front  door,  and  held  it 
open  respectfully,  but  in  sullen  silence. 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Calder.  1  trust  that  your 
hard  heart  may  some  day  soften!  May  no  one 
ever  be  so  cruel  to  you  as  you  are  to  that  unhappy 
child!  Good-bye!" 

The  very  flow  of  her  skirts,  as  she  walked  away 
along  the  path  by  the  roadside,  was  a  weighty  and 
unanswerable  rebuke  to  the  bitter  old  woman  in  the 
doorway. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   SEWING  -  CIRCLE 

AFTER  the  shattering  of  the  one  hope  to  which 
she  had  clung,  Luella  sank  into  a  kind  of  numbness 
of  slow  terror.  To  all  but  the  parsonage  folk  and 
Mrs.  Bembridge,  however,  she  kept  a  brave  face,  — 
a  face  of  forced  but  almost  cheerful  unconcern,  yet 
with  a  veiled  defiance.  This  attitude  won  her  little 
sympathy,  but  it  pretty  well  secured  her  from  pry- 
ing curiosity.  She  did  her  work  as  thoroughly  as 
ever;  and  with  apparently  all  her  old  enthusiasm, 
she  cultivated  her  glowing  garden  above  the  yellow 
turmoil  of  the  Bito.  She  went  to  church;  and  in 
the  choir  her  rich  contralto  thrilled  as  full  and  firm 
and  cello-toned  as  ever.  But  never  for  one  instant 
could  she  forget.  Every  moment,  waking  or  asleep, 
that  formless  weight  of  fear  and  pain  bore  down 
upon  her  heart.  It  tortured  her  dreams,  yet  made 
her  afraid  to  wake  and  face  a  new  day.  Only  her 
strength  of  will  and  her  vigorous  health  of  body 
saved  her  from  breaking  down  under  the  unrelent- 
ing strain. 

in 


112  The  Heart  That  Knows 

In  this  way,  the  summer  dragged  on,  each  bright, 
windy  day  seeming  longer  than  the  one  before  it, 
till  every  beauty  that  she  had  loved  —  the  marshes, 
and  the  shad-boats  beating  in,  and  the  yellow  tides, 
and  the  shining  red  channels  when  the  tide  was  out 
—  came  to  hold  a  daunting  menace  for  her.  It  was 
during  storms,  or  when  the  countryside  was 
drenched  with  rain,  that  she  felt  least  overwhelmed. 
Storm  seemed,  in  some  way,  to  strengthen  and  stay 
her,  and  heavy  rain,  she  fancied,  in  some  way  fenced 
and  covered  her  against  the  oncoming  dread.  But 
when  haying  time  had  passed,  and  the  aftermath 
had  sprung  up  thick  and  green,  and  the  marshes 
were  everywhere  dotted  with  the  cattle  turned  out 
to  feed  on  the  rich  pasturage,  then  her  fear  grew  so 
hideous  that  she  began  almost  to  long  for  the  re- 
lief of  discovery.  Then  at  last,  one  sultry  afternoon 
in  mid-August,  it  came. 

The  sewing-circle  met  that  afternoon  at  Miss 
Evans's,  a  low,  wide-winged  white  cottage,  with  a 
bright  red  front  door,  on  the  road  between  the  Bito 
and  Westcock  church.  Mrs.  Ben  Ackerley  was 
there,  and  Mrs.  Finnimore,  and  the  Widow  Gandy, 
and  Miss  Hopkins,  and  Mitty  Smith,  and  half  a 
dozen  others,  old  and  young,  rich  and  poor,  all 
working  together  in  the  high  democracy  of  the 
church,  and  all  eagerly  occupied  in  making  things 
to  be  sold,  three  weeks  later,  at  the  church  bazaar. 


The  Sewing-circle  113 

The  object  of  the  bazaar  was  to  raise  funds  for  the 
purchase  of  a  new  organ  for  Westcock  church; 
and  on  that  account,  of  course,  the  members  of  the 
choir  were  particularly  interested  in  it.  Luella  had 
always  been  diligent  in  church  work,  and  she  was 
a  member  of  the  sewing-circle,  but  to-day  she 
shrank  nervously  from  the  ordeal  of  facing  the 
group  of  searching  eyes  and  busy  tongues.  She 
went  up  to  the  parsonage  very  early  in  the  after- 
noon, with  the  idea  of  going  to  Miss  Evans's  in  the 
protecting  company  of  Mrs.  Goodridge.  But  to  her 
disappointment  Mrs.  Goodridge  had  already  gone. 
Luella  was  afraid  to  go  alone,  —  but  she  was  still 
more  afraid  to  stay  away. 

The  moment  she  entered  the  room,  however,  she 
realized  that  she  had  made  a  mistake  in  coming. 
The  buzz  of  conversation  stopped,  and  all  eyes 
turned  upon  her,  —  some  with  indifference,  some 
with  curiosity,  but  some  with  a  sudden,  penetrating, 
pitiless  comprehension.  She  went  deathly  pale  on 
the  instant,  —  and  stood  for  a  second  or  two  visibly 
trembling.  Then  she  almost  ran  across  the  room 
to  Mrs.  Goodridge.  She  had  seen  Mrs.  Finnimore, 
with  a  lift  of  the  eyebrows,  flash  a  look  of  malicious 
comprehension  at  Mrs.  Ackerley,  —  and  she  knew 
that  her  secret  was  discovered.  Without  speech,  it 
thrilled  electrically  from  one  to  another,  till  all  the 
married  women  in  the  room  but  Mrs.  Goodridge 


114  The  Heart  That  Knows 

felt  the  signal,  looked,  and  knew.  Most  of  the  girls, 
too,  received  a  dim  communication  that  made  them 
open  their  eyes  in  a  pleased  expectation  of  some 
excitement.  Only  good-natured  Mitty  Smith,  who 
sat  bending,  with  parted  lips,  over  her  task  of  em- 
broidering a  white  baby-cap,  was  unconscious  of 
the  sinister  thrill  in  the  air. 

Mrs.  Goodridge,  affable  and  accessible  to  all,  but 
inwardly  aloof,  received  none  of  these  signals  that 
were  flashed  about  the  room.  She  saw  only  that 
Luella  was  white  and  tremulous;  and  tactfully  she 
seemed  not  to  see  it  Making  room  for  the  girl  to 
sit  beside  her,  she  said,  with  careless  cordiality: 

"  Here,  Luella  dear,  I  wish  you'd  go  on  with  this 
hemstitching  for  me.  I  hate  such  fussy  work,  and 
you  do  it  so  much  better  than  I  do.  I'd  rather  darn 
or  sew  on  buttons."  And  passing  a  fine  handker- 
chief over  to  Luella,  she  turned  and  began  talking 
to  Miss  Hopkins  —  who  was  a  notable  cook  —  over 
her  plans  for  the  refreshment  table  at  the  bazaar. 

In  a  few  moments,  however,  she  became  con- 
scious that  something  was  wrong.  Speaking  into 
Miss  Hopkins's  sympathetic  ear,  she  was  say- 
ing: 

"  As  for  pies,  Miss  Hopkins,  I  should  think  we'd 
need  about  three  dozen  apple,  and  a  dozen  and  a  half 
lemon  meringue,  at  least,  and  as  many  —  "  but  at 
this  point  she  noticed  that  whispering  had  taken  the 


The  Sewing-circle  115 

place  of  the  customary  open  conversation.  All 
about  the  room,  heads  were  together,  in  twos  and 
threes.  Mitty  Smith  sat  alone,  mouth  open  intently, 
unconscious  of  everything  but  her  work  on  the  little 
white  cap.  And  Luella  sat  alone,  half  crouching 
behind  a  tall,  three-decker  wickerwork  sewing- 
basket,  her  drooped  face  no  longer  white,  but 
crimson.  Mrs.  Goodriclge's  eyes  began  to  blaze. 
She  swept  them  once  more  all  over  the  company, 
keenly  noting  the  countenance  of  each  individual. 
She  did  not  understand  anything  but  the  fact  that 
in  some  feminine  way  the  whole  herd  of  women  was 
bullying  Luella.  Miss  Hopkins  saw  the  expression 
that  came  into  her  face,  and  coughed  nervously,  as 
a  prairie-dog  whistles  a  note  of  warning  to  his  fel- 
lows at  the  approach  of  danger.  But  the  signal  was 
unheeded,  or  unheard.  Every  one  was  absorbed  in 
the  sensation  of  the  moment.  Suddenly  came  the 
harshly  self-righteous  voice  of  Mrs.  Ben  Ackerley, 
trampling  down  the  restraint  of  the  whisper,  in  re- 
ply to  something  Mrs.  Finnimore  had  said. 

"  Yes,  some  folks  is  that  brazen  there  ain't  nothin' 
that  could  shame  them  into  —  " 

And  just  here  Mrs.  Goodridge  thought  well  to 
finish  her  sentence. 

"  And  as  many  more  of  mince,  Miss.  Hopkins," 
she  concluded,  in  a  voice  which  rang  loud  and  sharp, 
like  a  command.  It  made  every  one  except  Luella 


Il6  The  Heart  That  Knows 

sit  up  very  straight,  and  every  one  who  sat  up 
straight  —  except  Mitty  Smith  —  look  guilty. 

There  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence,  while  Mrs. 
Goodridge's  gaze  pierced  to  Mrs.  Ben  Ackerley's 
stiff  backbone.  Then  a  strangled  sob  burst 
from  Luella's  throat.  Warm-hearted  Mitty  Smith 
jumped  up,  dropping  her  work  on  the  floor,  and  ran 
and  threw  her  arms  over  Luella's  shoulders. 

"  Don't  cry,  LueHy!  "  she  murmured,  coaxingly. 
"  What's  wrong,  dear  ?  " 

Her  one  thought  was  that  Luella  must  have  made 
some  dreadful  mistake  in  her  work,  and  ruined 
that  beautiful  handkerchief. 

Mrs.  Goodridge's  first  impulse  was  to  gather  Lu- 
ella to  her  side,  comfort  her,  give  expression  to  cer- 
tain definite  opinions  in  regard  to  the  rest  of  the 
company,  and  bid  them  good  afternoon.  But  she 
realized  her  responsibility  to  the  rector,  the  parish, 
and,  above  all,  the  bazaar.  She  could  not  allow  her- 
self to  be  too  frankly  a  partisan.  To  be  compelled 
to  compromise  in  this  way  was  a  trial  to  her  un- 
conforming spirit;  but  she  consoled  herself  in  part 
with  the  sudden  reflection  that  if  she  were  to  go 
away  then  the  tongues  of  the  circle  would  wag  all 
unrestrained.  She  would  stay,  and  put  a  curb  upon 
them. 

Smoothing  the  frown  from  her  forehead  and  the 


The  Sewing-circle  117 

indignation  from  her  voice,  she  said  sweetly  to 
Luella : 

"  You're  all  overwrought,  dear.  It  was  thought- 
less of  me  to  set  you  at  that  fussy  work  when  you're 
not  well.  Now,  I  want  you  and  Mitty  to  do  some 
errands  for  me,  up  Sackville.  I  drove  down  here 
from  the  parsonage,  instead  of  walking,  because  it's 
so  hot.  Old  Jerry's  out  in  Miss  Evans's  stable,  and 
the  carriage  is  in  the  yard.  You  and  Mitty  go  and 
hitch  up.  Here  are  two  lists,  of  things  for  the  Cir- 
cle and  things  for  myself.  And  here  are  some 
pieces  of  ribbon  I  want  you  to  match.  Get  every- 
thing at  Smith  &  McElvey's,  be  sure.  And  see  Mr. 
McElvey  himself.  Have  him  make  out  the  two  bills 
separate,  and  remind  him  he  promised  me  a  special 
extra  discount  on  everything  we  wanted  for  the 
sewing-circle.  And  don't  drive  old  Jerry  too  hard 
in  this  heat  —  you  couldn't  do  it,  though,  if  you 
wanted  to,  for  he  goes  just  as  he  likes,  and  that's 
the  reason  the  rector  won't  drive  him  any  more. 
And  come  back  here  for  me,  so  you  can  drive  me 
home." 

During  this  long  speech,  —  purposely  drawn  out 
to  give  every  one  a  chance  to  think  a  little,  —  Luella 
had  recovered  her  outward  composure  somewhat, 
and  was  once  more  as  pale  as  her  collar.  In  a  voice 
that  was  faint  but  fairly  steady  she  asked  for  some 
directions  about  the  ribbons.  Then  she  left  the 


1 1 8  The  Heart  That  Knows 

room,  followed  by  Mitty;  and  she  felt  as  if  all  the 
other  women  were  hissing  shame  and  denunciation 
after  her.  Once  outside,  however,  she  forced  her- 
self to  a  spasmodic  cheerfulness,  in  order  to  protect 
herself  from  Mitty's  amiable  but  troublesome  in- 
terrogations. 

As  soon  as  the  two  girls  were  gone,  Mrs.  Good- 
ridge  resumed  her  work  as  if  it  were  the  only  thing 
of  importance  to  her  in  Westcock;  and  for  several 
minutes  there  was  a  tense,  expectant  stillness  in  the 
room,  broken  only  by  the  rustle  of  stuffs  and  the  oc- 
casional faint  click  of  thimble  on  needle.  Then, 
contemplatively,  without  looking  at  any  one,  she 
remarked  in  a  gentle  voice : 

"  There's  one  thing  sometimes  fills  me  with 
amazement.  When  a  number  of  really  nice  women 
—  women  naturally  kind  and  good  and  full  of 
Christian  charity  —  get  together,  how  often  a 
queer  change  seems  to  come  over  them!  It  would 
almost  seem  as  if  Christian  charity  thought  a 
sewing-circle  was  no  place  for  it,  and  therefore 
stayed  outside." 

There  was  a  moment  of  pregnant  silence.  Then 
pretty  little  feather-headed  Mrs.  McMinn  spoke  up 
from  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"  Land's  sakes,  Mrs.  Goodridge,"  she  piped, 
glibly,  "  you  ain't  surely  goin'  to  ask  us  to  asso- 
ciate with  a  girl  like  Luelly  Warden.  It  ain't  pos- 


The  Sewing-circle  119 

sible.  It's  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  her  face  what's 
the  matter  with  her.  Land's  sakes,  John  wouldn't 
let  me  associate  with  her.  My,  but  he'd  be  mad !  " 

During  this  speech  the  truth  had  struck  Mrs. 
Goodridge  for  the  first  time.  It  had  struck  her  in 
the  face.  For  half  a  second  her  courage  almost 
failed  her,  so  weak  had  her  position  become.  Then 
her  dauntless  spirit  rose  to  the  greater  difficulty, 
and  the  light,  which  had  flickered  for  a  moment, 
glowed  again  in  her  eyes.  Like  a  flash  she  recalled 
every  detail  of  the  personal  history  of  each  one  of 
the  women  before  her.  As  for  Luella's  own  case, 
she  knew  that  the  girl,  influenced  by  tradition  and 
example,  had  held  herself  as  sacredly  the  wife  of 
her  lover  as  if  all  the  bishops,  priests,  and  deacons 
of  the  diocese  had  performed  the  ceremony.  It  was 
an  attitude  which  Mrs.  Goodridge  fervently  de- 
plored, —  but  she  understood  it,  and  could  judge 
it  fairly.  She  was  determined  that  the  Westcock 
people  should  judge  it  fairly,  too. 

"  Of  course,  Mrs.  McMinn,"  she  answered  in  po- 
lite agreement,  "  I  can  quite  understand  your  posi- 
tion in  such  a  matter ! "  and  Mrs.  McMinn,  whose 
wedding-day,  thanks  to  the  firm  insistence  of  the 
rector,  had  preceded  the  christening  of  her  first 
baby  by  nearly  six  weeks,  flushed  uncomfortably, 
and  glanced  about  the  room  to  see  if  any  one 
seemed  to  think  the  rector's  wife  meant  anything. 


I2O  The  Heart  That  Knows 

For  once  she  had  no  answer  ready.  But  Mrs.  Fin- 
nimore  stepped  into  the  breach.  She  was  a  fat  lady ; 
and  as  she  spoke  she  rocked  her  chair  gently,  her 
knees  wide  apart  and  her  hands  resting  on  her 
stomach. 

'  Tears  to  me  as  how  Mrs.  McMinn's  about 
right,  Mrs.  Goodridge,  with  all  respect  to  your 
opinion.  We  can't,  in  justice  to  ourselves,  have 
nothin'  to  do  with  a  girl  like  Luelly,  —  more's  the 
pity,  too,  for  afore  this  happened  I'd  always  thought 
she  was  such  an  exceptional  fine  girl.  Of  course, 
it's  different  with  you,  Mrs.  Goodridge.  Bein'  the 
parson's  wife,  you  can  afford  to  do  as  you  please,  — 
an'  maybe  it's  right,  too,  that  you  should  stand  by 
the  weak  an'  erring  sister.  But  us  respectable  folk, 
we  got  to  think  of  our  own  reputations.  An'  we 
jest  can't  associate  with  Luelly  Warden  —  with  all 
respect  to  you,  Mrs.  Goodridge." 

Having  thus  delivered  herself,  she  leaned  back, 
and  rocked  harder,  and  half-closed  her  little  fat 
eyes  complacently.  She  had  only  lived  in  West- 
cock  five  years;  and  having  come  from  a  remote 
place  somewhere  in  the  State  of  Maine,  there  was 
no  one  present  who  knew  anything  whatever  of 
the  first  forty  years  of  her  life. 

Mrs.  Goodridge  hesitated  before  replying  to  Mrs. 
Finnimore,  whom  she  particularly  disliked.  She 
cast  her  eyes  about  once  more,  to  select  the  best 


The  Sewing-circle  121 

point  of  attack.  The  majority  of  the  women  pres- 
ent were  securely  entrenched,  having  taken  no  open 
liberties  with  the  conventions.  But  two  of  the  lead- 
ers Mrs.  Goodridge  knew  to  be  so  vulnerable  that 
she  wondered  if  they  would  have  the  audacity  to 
contend.  She  hoped  they  would  frankly  take  Lu- 
ella's  part,  if  only  as  a  measure  of  personal  precau- 
tion. There  was  the  ever-censorious  Mrs.  Ben 
Ackerley,  whose  only  daughter,  as  honest  and  faith- 
ful a  little  soul  as  ever  lived,  had  presented  her 
lover  with  two  fine  boys  before  she  could  get 
around  to  the  fuss  and  formality  of  a  wedding. 
And  there  was  the  village  gossip  par  excellence, 
the  Widow  Gandy.  She  was  indisputably  a  widow 
by  her  second  husband  —  but  as  to  her  first,  whether 
he  was  dead,  or  divorced,  or  both,  or  neither,  no- 
body could  tell  but  the  Widow  Gandy  herself,  and 
her  testimony  had  always  lain  under  some  suspi- 
cion of  prejudice.  She  let  it  be  generally  under- 
stood that  she  had  been  compelled  to  divorce  him, 
and  that  he  had  died  of  grief  in  consequence. 
Then,  there  was  Miss  Hopkins,  of  the  pies.  She 
was  the  pink  of  inviolate  spinsterhood,  but  of  dis- 
tinctly indeterminate  fatherhood.  It  was  through 
no  fault  of  hers,  however,  that  she  bore  a  mother's 
rather  than  a  father's  name.  She  was  a  kindly 
soul,  a  lover  of  concord,  innocent  in  thought  and 
act,  given  to  going  with  the  crowd  for  the  sake  of 


122  The  Heart  That  Knows 

peace,  and  incapable  of  wishing  ill  to  any  one  unless 
it  were  a  decrier  of  her  pie-crusts.  Mrs.  Goodridge 
dismissed  Miss  Hopkins  from  her  thoughts  at  once. 
But  she  felt  herself  in  something  of  a  dilemma. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  said  at  length,  striving  to 
keep  her  heart's  heat  out  of  her  voice,  "  that  some 
of  us  could  afford  to  make  allowance  for  poor  Lu- 
ella  and  sympathize  with  her,  and  even  associate 
with  her,  much  better  than  we  can  afford  to  criticize 
her.  She  is  to  be  blamed,  of  course.  She  has  done 
wrong,  of  course.  But  who  of  us  can  throw  stones 
at  her?" 

"  She's  a  shameless  hussy ! "  came  the  prompt 
and  pious  response  of  Mrs.  Ackerley,  who  was  lack- 
ing in  imagination  as  well  as  in  perception.  From 
somewhere  across  the  room  some  one  of  quicker  in- 
tellect snickered.  Mrs.  Goodridge  did  not  see  who 
it  was,  but  she  felt  herself  less  alone  for  that 
snicker.  There  was  at  least  one  person  present 
who  could  appreciate  her  points. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  continued,  ignoring  Mrs. 
Ackerley's  interruption,  "  that  some  of  you  ladies 
draw  extremely  fine  distinctions  in  these  matters,  — 
quite  too  fine  for  me  to  perceive  them.  She's  done 
very  wrong,  of  course.  /  regard  such  things  as 
sinful.  But  there  are  others  in  Westcock  who  have 
done  wrong  in  exactly  the  same  way.  They  have 
not  been  punished.  They  have  not  been  treated  like 


The  Sewing-circle  123 

outcasts.  I  can't  understand  such  inconsistencies. 
Mind,  I'm  not  finding  fault  with  the  others,  whoever 
they  are.  But  I  claim  the  same  consideration  for 
this  unhappy,  brutally  deserted  girl,  Luella  Warden, 
in  her  hour  of  need,  that  has  been  given  to  these 
others,  whoever  they  may  be." 

Had  it  not  been  for  Mrs.  Ackerley,  it  is  quite 
possible  that  this  plea  might  have  won  the  whole 
company  over  to  Luella's  side.  Mrs.  Gandy,  who, 
for  all  the  perils  of  her  tongue,  was  not  at  heart 
malevolent,  was  already  smiling  acquiescence.  Lit- 
tle Mrs.  McMinn,  thoroughly  daunted,  was  eager 
to  capitulate.  Mrs.  Finnimore,  with  nothing  at 
stake,  was  open  to  conviction.  The  hostess  of  the 
day,  Miss  Evans,  a  small,  gentle  old  maid  with  sil- 
ver hair  brushed  lustrously  down  over  her  ears  in 
a  Madonna  curve,  was  just  opening  her  mouth  in 
support  of  all  Mrs.  Goodridge  had  said.  But  Mrs. 
Ackerley  broke  in. 

"  /  say  as  how  Luelly  Warden's  nothin'  more  nor 
less  than  a  wanton  hussy,"  she  cried,  facing  Mrs. 
Goodridge  defiantly.  "  Girls  that  gives  their  word 
to  a  lover,  an'  sticks  to  him  faithful,  an'  marries  him 
when  the  time  comes,  —  it  may  be  soon,  or  it 
may  be  a  mite  late  in  some  folks's  opinion,  —  but 
it's  all  right,  an'  them  girls  is  jest  as  good  an'  jest 
as  honest  as  anybody.  You  hain't  named  no  names, 
but  I  know  as  how  it's  my  girl  you're  a-hittin'  at, 


124  The  Heart  That  Knows 

Mrs.  Goodridge.  But  you  know,  jest  as  well  as  I 
do,  'tain't  the  same  thing  at  all.  My  Annie's  a 
good,  honest  girl,  an'  I  won't  have  nobody  speak 
of  her  in  the  same  breath  with  that  hussy,  Luelly 
Warden." 

"  I'm  sorry  you've  been  so  ready  to  fit  the  cap 
on  your  own  daughter's  head,  Mrs.  Ackerley ! " 
answered  Mrs.  Goodridge.  "I've  nothing  but  re- 
spect and  regard  for  your  good  daughter.  But  I 
want  you  to  have  a  little  decent  humanity  for  an- 
other girl  who  is  in  just  exactly  the  position  your 
daughter  was  in  for  a  long  time,  and  who  is,  more- 
over, suffering  under  a  cruel  wrong!" 

"My  Annie  jest  like  Luelly  Warden?"  almost 
shouted  Mrs.  Ackerley.  "  Was  my  Annie  ever 
jilted  by  her  man,  I'd  like  to  know?  I  dare  any- 
body to  say  it!  Would  any  man  in  Westcock  de- 
sert his  girl  when  she  was  '  that  way,'  'less  he 
know'd  'twas  some  other  man  as  done  it?  Would 
Jim  Calder  'a'  done  it?  You  know  well  enough 
what  Jim's  own  mother'll  say!  An'  you  talk  about 
that  hussy  bein'  jest  like  my  Annie !  " 

Mrs.  Goodridge  did  know  very  well  indeed  what 
"  Jim's  own  mother  "  would  say ;  and  the  knowl- 
edge did  not  tend  to  conciliate  her. 

"  /  say,  Mrs.  Ackerley,"  she  retorted  in  a  cutting 
voice,  leaning  forward  in  her  chair,  "  I  say 
that  Luella  Warden  is  a  good  girl,  an  honest  girl. 


The  Sewing-circle  125 

just  exactly  as  your  Annie  was.  I  say  that  Luella 
Warden  is  in  her  own  eyes,  —  and,  I  do  truly  be- 
lieve, in  God's  eyes,  also,  —  the  wife  of  Jim  Calder, 
—  the  hideously  wronged  wife  of  Jim  Calder.  And 
T  expect  my  friends  to  treat  her  as  such!  " 

"  Like  my  Annie,  indeed !  Listen  to  that !  She's 
a  common  hussy!  "  almost  shrieked  Mrs.  Ackerley. 
jumping  to  her  feet  in  her  excitement,  and  clutching 
at  her  sewing-bag,  as  if  she  were  about  to  throw  it 
at  her  opponent's  head. 

Mrs.  Goodridge  was  past  all  diplomacy,  now. 
She  sat  up  very  straight,  and  eyed  Mrs.  Ackerley 
with  biting  scorn. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  sternly.  "  The  enor- 
mity of  Luella's  sin  appears  to  lie  in  the  fact  that 
her  lover  —  her  husband,  I  call  him  —  has  basely 
deserted  her,  —  left  her  to  face  alone  her  shame, 
and  her  anguish,  and  the  persecution  of  such  women 
as  you.  She  has  no  man  to  protect  her  —  and  that 
is  the  opportunity  of  such  as  you.  From  such 
'  good '  women  as  you,  Mrs.  Ackerley,  may  we 
all  be  saved !  " 

Mrs.  Ackerley  looked  around  the  room  for  an 
ally,  but  found  none  so  bold  as  to  come  to  her  de- 
fence. 

"Umph!"  she  snorted.  "  Ye're  all  cowards. 
Ye' re  all  scairt  o'  her! "  She  started  for  the  door. 
Then  she  turned  about.  "  I'll  never  set  foot  insider 


126  The  Heart  That  Knows 

Westcock  church  agin,  if  I  live  to  a  hunderd.  I'll 
jine  the  Baptis'  church  to-morrow !  "  Then  she 
strode  away  hurriedly,  not  waiting  to  observe  the 
result  of  this  awful  threat.  And  in  a  sweet  voice 
Mrs.  Goodridge  called  after  her: 

"  I'm  sure,  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy  in  the 
change,  Mrs.  Ackerley.  But  from  what  I  hear  of 
good  Mr.  Sawyer,  their  minister,  you  won't  find 
any  more  encouragement  to  malice  and  slander  over 
there  than  among  us." 

When  Mrs.  Ackerley's  outraged  black-alpaca 
shoulders  had  disappeared,  Mrs.  Goodridge  cast  an 
approving  glance  around  the  room.  It  seemed  best 
to  take  it  for  granted,  now,  that  every  one  had  been 
on  her  side  in  the  tilt  with  her  vanquished  adver- 
sary. And  it  suited  every  one,  just  then,  to  let  it 
appear  so.  Nearly  every  one  present  liked  Mrs. 
Goodridge,  and  quite  every  one  present  dreaded  to 
cross  her  imperious  will.  As  victor,  she  could  well 
be  generous.  So,  with  the  air  of  dismissing  a  mat- 
ter unpleasant  but  also  unimportant,  she  said, 
thoughtfully : 

"  I'm  sure  we  all  feel  that  the  good  lady  who  has 
left  us  does  herself,  in  reality,  a  great  injustice.  She 
is  not  really  so  heartless  and  merciless  as  she  would 
have  us  think.  I  have  known  her  to  be  most  self- 
sacrificingly  generous,  when  her  prejudices  were 
not  aroused.  But  there  is  no  getting  over  the  fact 


The  Sewing-circle  127 

that  she  will  never  listen  to  reason,  —  and  she  is 
a  little  bit  too  impetuous  for  comfort.  We  will  try 
our  best  to  get  along  without  her." 

There  was  a  faint,  rather  inarticulate  murmur  of 
assent;  and  then  an  industrious  peace  settled  down 
upon  the  circle.  Later  in  the  afternoon,  when  the 
members  had  scattered  to  their  homes,  all  had  made 
up  their  minds  to  a  compromise.  They  would  run 
no  risk  of  a  falling-out  with  Mrs.  Goodridge  by 
openly  snubbing  Luella;  but  they  would  gently 
"  freeze  her  out."  They  knew  the  process  would  be 
easy,  and  safe;  for  Luella's  sensitive  pride  would 
notice  things  that  Mrs.  Goodridge  would  never 
think  of  heeding. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
ABNER  BAISLEY'S  BILL 

IN  spite  of  Mrs.  Goodridge's  substantial  triumph 
in  the  sewing-circle,  the  news  about  Luella,  of 
course,  went  over  the  village  like  wild-fire.  Some 
spread  it  with  laughter,  some  with  pretence  of 
tears;  but  no  one  failed  to  spread  it.  Even  Mrs. 
Goodridge  herself  had  to  tell  it  that  very  evening  — 
to  the  rector,  after  Luella  had  gone  home ;  and  she 
was  hotly  indignant  when  the  rector,  without  any 
surprise  whatever,  simply  said,  "  Poor,  deluded 
child!  That's  just  what  I've  been  afraid  of  all 
along!" 

"Afraid  of  all  along!"  she  echoed,  sharply. 
"  Then  I'd  like  to  know  why  you  didn't  say  so, 
George!  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself, 
leaving  me  to  find  out  such  a  thing  as  that  from  an 
impertinent  little  whipper-snapper  like  that  Jinnie 
McMinn!" 

"  Why,  Jean,"  protested  the  rector,  in  astonish- 
ment (he  had  not  even  yet  got  over  being  aston- 
ished at  his  wife's  unexpectedness),  "I  merely 

128 


Abner  Baisley's  Bill  129 

feared  it,  as  I  told  you.  Of  course  I  didn't  know  it, 
any  more  than  you  did.  So  how  could  I  tell  you?  " 

"  I  should  think  you  might  have  told  me  what 
you  thought!"  pursued  Mrs.  Goodridge,  obsti- 
nately. But  the  rector,  changing  the  subject  a  little, 
asked  such  an  interesting  question  about  Mrs.  Ack- 
erley's  outbreak  that  his  wife  at  once  forgot  her 
grievance  in  the  retailing  of  her  triumph. 

It  was  not  till  the  following  morning  that  Mrs. 
Calder  heard  the  news.  Her  house  was  off  the 
direct  road  between  Wood  Point  and  the  "  Bito." 
But  one  of  the  Martin  girls  went  out  of  her  way 
to  go  and  tell  Mrs.  Calder,  just  as  that  good  lady 
was  clearing  the  kitchen  table  after  her  frugal 
breakfast.  Sallie  Martin  was  in  a  hurry.  She  came 
into  the  back  yard,  stuck  her  head  in  the  kitchen 
window,  and  delivered  a  terse  statement  of  the 
situation.  To  her  amazement,  Mrs.  Calder's  stony 
countenance  thawed  at  once,  even  to  an  unmistak- 
able smile  of  welcome.  Then  she  laughed  aloud. 

"Ye  don't  tell  me!  Be  ye  sartin  sure  it's  so? 
Come  right  inside  an'  have  a  cup  o'  tea,  Sallie  Mar- 
tin, and  tell  me  all  about  it,"  exclaimed  the  good 
lady,  with  enthusiasm.  But  Miss  Martin  had  no 
time  to  lose. 

"Ain't  got  a  minnit  to  spare!"  she  responded. 
"  I  hadn't  ought  to've  took  the  time  to  come  way 
'round,  only  I  thought  as  how  you'd  mebbe  like  to 


130  The  Heart  That  Knows 

know,  Mrs.  Calder.  Now  I  must  run,  for  I've  got 
to  git  saleratus,  an'  molasses,  an'  a  lot  o'  things, 
down  to  the  Bito,  an'  be  back  home  afore  half-pas' 
nine.  Mother's  bakin'  to-day."  She  turned  away, 
resolutely,  a  little  disconcerted  by  that  loud  laugh 
which  had  greeted  her  tidings. 

"  But  be  ye  sure  it's  so?  "  persisted  Mrs.  Calder, 
eagerly,  drying  her  hands  on  her  apron  as  she 
hastened  out  into  the  yard  in  the  hope  of  gathering 
more  such  news. 

"  Sartain !  No  mistake  about  it !  Ask  Mrs.  Ack- 
erley !  Good  day.  I  must  be  goin' !  "  answered 
the  girl,  almost  running  from  the  yard. 

All  the  morning  Mrs.  Calder  went  about  her 
work  with  a  cheerful  smile,  such  as  she  had  not 
worn  since  the  day  Jim  sailed.  Her  satisfaction 
worked  upon  her  mightily.  In  the  afternoon,  when 
she  went,  in  her  best  cap  and  shawl,  to  have  a  good 
talk  with  Mrs.  Ackerley,  the  latter  greeted  her  with 
the  exclamation: 

"  Well,  I  never  seen  the  like  of  ye,  Mrs.  Calder ! 
If  you  don't  look  ten  year  younger'n  when  I  seen 
you  last ! " 

On  the  following  morning,  when  every  one  else 
in  Westcock  had  heard  about  it,  and  thrashed  it 
all  well  over,  the  matter  came  to  the  ears  of  Luella's 
uncle.  As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  from  the  bitter 
tongue  of  Mrs.  Ackerley  it  came. 


Abner  Baisley's  Bill  131 

Mrs.  Ackerley  was  walking  down  to  the  Bito, 
to  visit  Mrs.  Finnimore  across  the  Creek.  As  she 
passed  the  dingy  window  of  the  store,  —  cluttered 
with  fly-specked  card-board  boxes  and  bottles, 
strings  of  woollen  socks  and  coloured  glass  beads, 
and  soiled  but  brilliant  advertisements  of  patent 
medicines,  —  she  hastened  her  steps  and  averted 
her  eyes.  It  was  just  the  wrong  moment  for  her 
to  remember  that  she  was  owing  Mr.  Baisley,  this 
long  time,  the  sum  of  seven  dollars  and  sixty-three 
cents;  and  that  Mr.  Baisley  had  more  than  once 
anxiously  interrogated  her  on  the  subject. 

To  Mr.  Baisley,  on  the  contrary,  as  he  caught 
sight  of  the  passing  form,  this  seemed  to  be  just 
the  right  moment  for  him  to  remember  his  little 
bill.  But  it  was  not.  He  was  distinctly  unfor- 
tunate in  having  such  a  memory  at  that  moment. 

Hopping  nimbly  around  the  end  of  his  counter, 
he  ran  out  into  the  road,  and  confronted  Mrs.  Ack- 
erley with  a  face  of  mingled  protest  and  persua- 
sion. The  lady  stopped,  bridling  resentfully. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Ackerley,"  he  said,  po- 
litely. "  I  hope  I  see  you  well !  " 

"  Thank  ye,  Mr.  Baisley,"  she  answered.  "  I 
can't  rightly  complain.  Fer  though  I'm  fur  from 
well,  there's  others  so  much  worse  off  that,  when 
I  consider,  I'm  bound  to  feel  thankful  to  the  Lord !  " 

"  Excellent,   Mrs.   Ackerley,"   agreed  the  store- 


132  The  Heart  That  Knows 

keeper,  rubbing  his  lean  and  freckled  hands.  "  A 
thankful  sperrit  is  a  blessed  thing.  Seein'  you  pass 
by,  I  jest  thought  as  how  I'd  remind  ye  about  that 
little  bill.  I'm  a  leetle  mite  hard  put  to  it,  this  week. 
The  bill's  nothin',  ye  might  say,  to  the  likes  of  you, 
Mrs.  Ackerley.  Only  seven  sixty-three!  But  to 
me,  it's  these  little  things  as  mounts  up.  An'  I'd 
be  obliged  if  you  could  help  me  out  this  morning! '' 

Mrs.  Ackerley  knew  that  she  couldn't,  —  not 
even  to  the  extent  of  the  odd  sixty-three  cents.  But 
she  did  not  want  to  say  so,  after  the  tribute  Mr. 
Baisley  had  paid  to  her  opulence.  She  was  not  un- 
willing he  should  think  that  seven  sixty-three  was 
nothing  to  her.  She  would  try  to  turn  his  flank  and 
escape  revealing  her  weakness. 

"  I'm  surprised,  I  declare  I'm  surprised,  Mr.  Bais- 
ley, that  you  should  be  thinkin'  about  a  few  cents 
on  a  day  like  this,  when  you'd  oughter  be  a-hidin' 
yer  head  in  shame  in  the  back  o'  yer  store!  You, 
to  be  stoppin'  respectable  ladies  on  the  street  an' 
talkin'  to  them  about  money!" 

She  made  as  if  to  pass;  but  Mr.  Baisley,  dum- 
founded  and  indignant  at  this  unexpected  assault, 
put  out  a  detaining  hand,  —  and  she  suffered  her- 
self to  be  detained. 

"Hidin'  my  head?  — Me?  What  fur,  I'd  like 
to  know?  Shame?  I'd  have  ye  understand,  Mary 
Jane  Ackerley,  /  hain't  done  nothin'  to  be  ashamed 


Abner  Baisley's  Bill  133 

of!     I'll  be  obleeged  to  you  if  you'll  kindly  ex- 
plain!" 

A  bricky  flush  was  stealing  up  through  his  thin 
whiskers,  and  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  narrowed  to 
pin  points.  He  had  always  despised  Mrs.  Ackerley, 
anyway,  —  and  now,  for  her  to  presume  to  "  talk 
up  "  to  him,  —  and  owing  him  seven  sixty-three, 

—  was  rather  too  much ! 

"  If  'tain't  you,  Abner  Baisley,  it's  yer  house,  — 
an'  that's  the  same  thing!"  retorted  Mrs.  Acker- 
ley. 

Now  it  was  one  of  Mr.  Baisley's  none  too  abun- 
dant virtues  that  he  was  not  overquick  in  suspi- 
cion. He  took  it  that  Mrs.  Ackerley  was  referring 
to  the  fact  that  Luella  had  been  notoriously  jilted, 

—  which  would  have  been  cause  for  shame,  indeed, 
had  the  stain  not  been  clean  wiped  out  by  the  open 
support  of  the  rector  and  Mrs.  Goodridge.     Feel- 
ing quite  secure  on  that  point,  it  was  with  a  certain 
exultation  that  he  struck  back  at  his  insolent  as- 
sailant. 

"  Ho!  "  he  crowed.  "  It's  my  house  ye're  hissin' 
at,  be  it?  Well,  all  I  kin  say  is,  look  to  yer  own 
house,  Mary  Jane  Ackerley,  look  to  yer  own 
house!" 

Knowing  how  unanswerable  her  retort  to  this 
thrust  would  be,  Mrs.  Ackerley  was  not  greatly  en- 
raged. She  was  too  interested,  she  was  getting  too 


134  The  Heart  That  Knows 

much  solid  satisfaction  out  of  the  encounter,  to  be 
really  angry. 

"  Ye'll  be  singin'  another  tune,  Mr.  Baisley,  when 
ye  come  to  know  what  everybody  else  in  Westcock 
knows,"  she  sneered.  "  That  fine  niece  o'  yourn, 
she's  fooled  some  of  us  these  two  months,  sence 
Jim  Calder  found  her  out  an'  quit  her,  —  but  every- 
body knows  her  now  fer  the  common  hussy  she 
be!" 

Mr.  Baisley  shrank  back  in  dismay  as  her  mean- 
ing struck  him.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  doubt 
the  charge.  Mrs.  Ackerley  passed  on  loftily.  Then, 
turning  with  a  harsh  laugh,  she  cried,  brutally, 
"  Don't  you  care,  Mr.  Baisley !  A  girl  like  that'll 
draw  customers !  " 

Almost  choking  with  fury  at  this  gross  insult, 
Mr.  Baisley  turned  and  rushed  into  the  store.  His 
rage  burned  most  fiercely  against  Luella,  for  hav- 
ing brought  this  shame  upon  him.  But  through 
it  all  he  kept  a  firm  grip  upon  one  consoling 
thought.  What  a  blessing  that  he  had  not  succeeded 
in  collecting  that  seven  sixty-three  from  Mrs.  Ack- 
erley. She  should  be  sued  for  it  at  once.  He 
would  swear  out  a  capias  that  very  afternoon. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

TURNED   OUT 

LUELLA  was  dusting  in  the  sitting-room  when 
her  uncle  burst  in  upon  her.  One  look  at  his  flushed 
face  and  furious,  fishy  eyes  told  her  what  had  hap- 
pened. Well,  she  was  glad  it  had  come.  Nothing 
could  be  worse  than  the  suspense.  She  braced  her- 
self for  the  storm  of  his  shrill  rage,  and  faced  him 
steadily. 

"It's  true,  is  it?"  he  demanded,  clutching  a 
chair-back  and  steadying  himself. 

"  Is  what  true?  "  asked  Luella,  quietly. 

"  You  know  what ! "  he  almost  screamed. 
"  Don't  ye  go  tryin'  to  wriggle  out  of  it.  Mrs. 
Ackerley's  jest  been  tellin'  me.  Be  it  true,  I  say?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  Mrs.  Ackerley's  been  say- 
ing, Uncle  Abner !  "  answered  Luella,  with  dignity. 
"  She's  a  foul-mouthed  old  gossip." 

Mr.  Baisley  jerked  his  arms  as  if  he  were  going 
to  strike  her  with  the  chair.  But  Luella's  blue  eyes 
met  his  unquailing. 

"  I  want  a  straight  answer!  "  he  shouted.    "  Be  it 

135 


136  The  Heart  That  Knows 

true  ?  She  sez  as  how  ye're  jest  no  better'n  a  com- 
mon hussy,  —  an'  everybody  in  Westcock  knows 
now  what's  wrong  with  you,  —  an'  there  ain't  no- 
body you've  fooled  but  me !  " 

"  I  know  I've  counted  myself  Jim  Calder's  wife! 
I've  trusted  him !  "  answered  Luella,  in  a  low  voice, 
dropping  her  eyes,  and  going  suddenly  scarlet. 

The  moment  her  eyes  fell  Mr.  Baisley  sprang 
forward,  fairly  beside  himself.  He  had  courage 
when  she  seemed  to  shrink.  He  grabbed  her  by  the 
arm  and  almost  flung  her  from  the  room,  toward 
the  foot  of  the  staircase.  "  Then  out  of  my  house 
ye  go,  this  minnit !  "  he  shrieked. 

Taken  by  surprise,  Luella  had  yielded  to  the  sud- 
denness of  this  attack.  But  she  wrenched  herself 
free,  and  drew  herself  to  her  full  height,  her  eyes 
flaming  upon  him.  She  was  a  good  two  inches 
taller  than  he,  and  had  no  fear  of  his  violence. 

"  Don't  you  lay  a  finger  on  me  agin,  Uncle  Ab- 
ner !  "  she  panted.  "  Don't  you  dare  lay  a  finger 
on  me  agin !  It  will  go  hard  with  you  if  you  do,  — 
mind,  I  warn  you ! " 

Mr.  Baisley  drew  back  a  couple  of  steps. 

"  She  sez  a  girl  like  you'll  draw  custom !  That's 
what  she  sez.  I  won't  be  shamed  by  the  likes  of 
you.  I  won't  have  you  around  my  house  a  day 
longer.  Out  ye  go  this  minnit,  afore  I  chuck  ye 
out!" 


Turned  Out  137 

"  No,  you  won't  chuck  me  out !  "  replied  the 
girl,  coldly.  "  An'  I  won't  go  till  I  get  a  team  to 
take  my  box.  And  I'll  send  for  my  things  to-mor- 
row, Uncle  Abner." 

In  his  excitement  Mr.  Baisley  had  forgotten  that 
most  of  the  furniture  in  his  house  belonged  to 
Luella. 

"  You  won't  tech  a  stick  o'  that  furniture.  If 
'twas  ten  times  as  much,  it  wouldn't  pay  me  fer 
your  board  all  these  years  I've  kept  ye.  You  won't 
tech  a  stick  of  it,  I  tell  ye!"  And  again  he  ad- 
vanced upon  her,  threateningly. 

Luella's  lips  curled  with  contempt.  Could  this 
pitiful  thing  be  her  mother's  brother?  She  knew 
that  he  could  never  make  good  his  threat,  for  her 
services  if  set  against  her  board  would  leave  a  very 
stiff  balance  in  her  favour,  and  she  was  not  the 
stuff  to  be  trampled  upon.  But  she  scorned  to 
advance  this  argument  at  present.  She  could  not 
stand  any  more  wrangling.  If  there  should  be  any 
more,  she  feared  she  might  lose  her  head  and  do 
something  she  would  be  sorry  for. 

"Keep  off!"  she  ordered.  "Keep  away  from 
me !  Don't  say  another  word  to  me !  I'll  go  to-day, 
when  I'm  ready.  And  you,  —  you  better  keep  clear 
of  me."  As  she  spoke  the  long-pent  wrath,  injury, 
tear,  anguish,  all  together  flamed  to  her  brain  in 
something  like  a  madness.  Her  eyes  grew  big,  and 


138  The  Heart  That  Knows 

dark,  —  and  Mr.  Baisley  backed  away  before  the 
dangerous  look  in  them.  As  he  backed,  she  fol- 
lowed, without  realizing  what  she  did.  "  You 
better  keep  right  there  in  the  store  till  I  get  away, 
— so's  I  won't  shame  you  any  more!  But  don't 
you  dare  to  speak  one  word  to  me  again,  long's 
you  live !  " 

When  she  came  to  the  sitting-room  door,  Mr. 
Baisley  had  retreated  as  far  as  the  table.  She 
chanced  to  lay  her  hand  on  the  door-knob.  In- 
stantly she  slammed  the  door  to,  and  locked  it. 
Then,  she  darted  up-stairs  to  her  room,  and  flung 
herself  down  on  the  bed  to  think  what  she  had 
better  do. 

It  never  for  an  instant  occurred  to  her  that  she 
might  go  away  from  Westcock,  —  go  somewhere 
where  she  was  not  known,  and  escape  the  bitter 
tongues.  She  belonged  to  Westcock,  —  and  in  case 
Jim  should  return,  in  Westcock  he  should  find  her. 
But  her  first  thought  was  of  the  parsonage.  Within 
those  old  brick  walls  she  knew  there  was  a  safe 
haven  for  the  present,  with  unfailing  help  and 
counsel  for  the  future.  For  a  little  while  she  let 
herself  be  comforted  with  the  idea  that  she  was 
going  to  the  parsonage.  Then,  when  her  heart  had 
ceased  to  choke  her  with  its  poundings,  she  allowed 
herself  to  face  the  fact  that  she  had  no  right  to  go 
there.  She  had  no  right  to  make  any  such  demands 


Turned  Out  139 

upon  the  friendship  of  the  rector  and  Mrs.  Good- 
ridge.  Her  common  sense,  and  a  certain  aative 
good  taste,  came  to  her  rescue.  She  would  go  to 
Mrs.  Bembridge,  and  pray  to  be  allowed  to  make 
her  home  there.  She  knew  well  enough  the  answer 
she  would  get. 

This  decision  made,  Luella  sprang  up  from  the 
bed  and  set  herself  hurriedly  to  packing  her  big 
brass-studded  box  with  such  things  as  she  would 
need  at  once,  and  with  the  trinkets  and  knick- 
knacks  which  she  most  intimately  valued.  Then 
there  were  other  boxes  to  pack,  in  readiness  for 
to-morrow's  moving.  Dinner-hour  went  by,  but 
Mr.  Baisley  did  not  interrupt  her.  As  far  as  she 
knew,  he  did  not  leave  the  store  even  to  enter  the 
kitchen.  As  she  moved  about,  she  chanced  to  pause 
for  a  moment  to  look  out  of  her  window.  Her  eyes 
fell  upon  her  garden,  now  a  riot  of  colour  with  its 
flaunting  August  blooms,  —  dahlias,  hollyhocks, 
tiger-lilies,  asters,  marigolds,  coxcombs,  crowding 
out  the  green,  bending  over  the  little  paths,  blot- 
ting the  trim  outlines  of  the  beds  to  a  semi-tropic 
jungle.  At  the  sight  a  huge  wave  of  homesickness 
flowed  over  her,  drowning  her  courage.  She  burst 
into  a  wild  fit  of  weeping,  —  and  the  work  of  pack- 
ing up  was  delayed  for  an  hour. 

Along  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  as  she 
was  looking  out  again  upon  the  garden,  schooling 


140  The  Heart  That  Knows 

herself  to  the  thought  of  leaving  it,  she  saw  her 
uncle  drive  by,  descending  the  Bito  hill.  He  had 
the  Richardsons'  wagon,  the  one  he  always  bor- 
rowed when  he  went  up  to  Sackville.  He  was  on 
his  way  to  swear  out  the  capias  against  Mrs.  Acker- 
ley.  But  this,  of  course,  Luella  could  not  suspect. 
She  was  a  little  surprised  at  his  going  on  this  par- 
ticular day ;  but  the  chief  thing  she  thought  of  was 
the  fact  that  his  absence  suited  her  plans.  Andy, 
the  boy,  was  probably  left  in  charge  of  the  store. 
Hastily  washing  her  face  to  remove  the  traces  of 
her  tears,  she  ran  down-stairs,  opened  the  door 
leading  into  the  back  store  a  little  way,  and  called 
Andy  into  the  kitchen. 

From  the  boy's  beaming  face  Luella  saw  at  once, 
to  her  unspeakable  relief,  that  he  had  heard  noth- 
ing. 

"  Andy,"  she  said,  with  a  cheerful  smile,  "  what 
time  will  you  be  getting  away  to-night  ?  " 

"  'Bout  seven,  I  guess,  Luelly,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Well,  then,  I  want  you  to  do  something  for 
me,  right  after  you  get  your  supper,"  she  went  on. 
"  An'  I  don't  want  you  to  say  a  word  about  it  to 
any  one." 

The  boy's  eyes  sparkled  agreement,  and  he 
nodded  his  shock-haired,  brown  head. 

"  I  want  you  to  get  Lawrence's  express  wagon 
for  me,  —  or  Tate's,  if  you  can't  get  Lawrence's, 


Turned  Out  141 

—  hire  it,  you  know,  —  don't  borrow  it,  —  and 
bring  it  round  here  to  the  gate  for  me  about  eight 
o'clock.  I'm  taking  a  box  of  things  up  to  old  Mrs. 
Bembridge's.  I'll  drive  up  with  you  myself,  and 
you  can  leave  me  there,  for  I'll  be  going  over  to 
the  parsonage  afterward  and  so  I  won't  be  back 
home  to-night." 

"Co-rect!"  said  Andy,  and  started  back  hur- 
riedly into  the  store,  thinking  he  had  heard  a  cus- 
tomer come  in.  He  was  devoted  to  Luella;  but  he 
was  at  the  age  when  it  pleased  him  to  be  laconic 
and  undemonstrative. 

"  And,  oh !  say !  Andy !  "  she  added,  stopping 
him,  "  don't  go  bringing  anybody  else  with  you. 
We  can  handle  the  box,  me  an'  you,  perfectly  well. 
I  know  how  strong  you  are!  " 

"  Co-rect !  "  repeated  Andy,  departing  with  a 
gratified  smile. 

That  night  about  eight  o'clock,  in  the  scented 
twilight,  with  the  rushing  of  the  tide  in  her  ears 
and  tears  in  her  heart,  Luella  bade  good-bye  to  her 
garden.  When  she  and  Andy  had  carried  down 
the  box  and  deposited  it  in  the  wagon,  she  had  the 
boy  help  her  pick  two  huge  armfuls  of  flowers, 
which  she  truthfully  told  him  were  for  Mrs.  Good- 
ridge  and  Mrs.  Bembridge.  He  had  never  before 
seen  her  quite  so  lavish  of  the  precious  blooms,  and 
he  marvelled  somewhat;  but  whatever  Luella  did 


142  The  Heart  That  Knows 

he  considered  "  jest  about  right,"  so  he  made  no 
comment.  Surreptitiously,  Luella  kissed  many  of 
the  lovely,  nodding  blossom-faces  which  she  had 
to  leave  behind  her,  —  and  she  left  them  wet  with 
a  salter  wet  than  dew.  But  outwardly  she  was  just 
as  cheerful  as  Andy  had  a  right  to  expect;  and  as 
the  laughter  of  the  two  rang  from  the  garden  to 
the  store,  Mr.  Baisley  snarled  savagely.  He  could 
hardly  contain  himself  at  this  proof  that  Luella  was 
treating  his  punishment  so  lightly.  He  even  felt  a 
faint  qualm  of  misgiving.  A  vision  of  what  the 
house  would  be  without  her  flashed  across  his  mind. 
As  for  her,  she  must  have  something  pretty  good 
ahead  of  her,  he  thought,  or  she  could  never  laugh 
like  that  when  she'd  just  been  turned  plumb  out  of 
doors !  "  The  ongrateful  hussy !  "  he  snarled,  un- 
der his  breath;  and  retiring  to  the  gloom  of  the 
back  store  he  served  himself  with  a  frugal  dram 
of  old  West  Indies  rum  to  calm  his  feelings. 

During  the  drive  from  her  uncle's  house  to  Mrs. 
Bembridge's,  Luella  was  grateful  beyond  words  for 
the  uncomprehending  companionship  of  Andy.  He 
believed  in  her,  admired  her,  was  half  in  love  with 
her  in  his  boyish  way,  —  and  having  not  yet 
reached  the  stage  of  self-conscious  diffidence  in  his 
passion,  he  was  boyishly  joyous  over  his  triumph 
in  "  gittin'  to  take  Luelly  fer  a  drive."  His  sim- 
plicity and  his  happiness  kept  Luella  from  feeling 


Turned  Out  143 

too  terribly  the  overwhelming  nature  of  what  she 
was  doing.  This  drive  through  the  sweet  night 
air,  with  the  noise  of  the  ebbing  waters  in  her  ears, 
was  the  most  momentous  move  of  her  life.  But 
with  Andy's  help  she  fenced  her  brain  from  the 
full  realization  of  its  import. 

There  was  light  in  Mrs.  Bembridge's  windows. 
At  the  unwonted  sound  of  wheels  turning  into  her 
lane  Mrs.  Bembridge  came  out  and  stood  in  the 
kitchen  door,  holding  a  candle,  which  she  shaded 
with  her  hand  against  the  night  wind.  The  flar- 
ing little  flame  lit  up  only  her  rugged  face,  and  the 
magenta  sontag  crossing  her  broad  bosom.  The 
face  looked  grim,  almost  forbidding,  as  it  peered 
forth  into  the  darkness.  Luella  kept  silence,  with 
a  hand  of  restraint  on  Andy's  arm,  till  the  wagon 
reached  the  middle  of  the  yard.  Mrs.  Bembridge's 
hand,  before  the  candle,  cast  a  huge  shadow  over 
the  chips,  all  the  way  to  the  barn.  The  picture  of 
the  lonely  cottage,  naked  in  its  fields  and  black 
against  the  open,  glimmering  sky,  the  tiny  patch  of 
light  in  the  narrow  doorway,  and  the  sombre,  in- 
quiring face  sharp  lit  by  the  wavering  flame,  bit 
into  her  memory  so  that  no  detail  of  it  ever  faded. 
It  seemed  to  her  to  symbolize  in  a  vague  way  what 
her  own  life  was  become,  —  so  small  and  uncertain 
a  light  in  so  great  a  darkness. 

"Who  be  it?"    demanded  Mrs.   Bembridge,  in 


144  The  Heart  That  Knows 

a  voice  abrupt  and  peremptory.  Her  efforts  to 
throw  the  light  upon  the  visitors  were  being  foiled 
by  the  caprices  of  the  wind. 

"  Just  me,  Mrs.  Bembridge !  Me  an'  Andy.  I've 
brought  up  those  things,  you  know,  —  and  some 
flowers ! " 

Luella's  voice  was  too  cheerful  to  be  true,  and 
the  old  woman's  sensitive  sympathies  perceived  at 
once  that  something  had  happened.  She  had  no 
idea  what  Luella  meant  by  "  those  things,"  but  she 
was  too  wise  to  show  her  ignorance. 

"  Bless  yer  heart,  Sweetie.  Fancy  ye  remem- 
berin'  about  it !  "  she  cried,  her  face  glowing  with 
swift  welcome.  "  Come  right  along  in,  both  of 
yez,  an  I'll  make  yez  a  pot  o'  tea." 

Luella  had  sprung  lightly  from  the  wagon,  and 
was  now  helping  Andy  lift  out  the  box.  Carrying 
it  between  them,  each  with  free  arm  extended  to 
balance  the  effort,  they  staggered  into  the  house 
and  set  it  down  in  the  only  vacant  corner.  Then, 
breathing  hard  and  wiping  his  wet  forehead  on  his 
sleeve,  Andy  made  answer. 

"  No  tea  fer  me,  thank  ye  kindly,  Mrs.  Bem- 
bridge !  But  I'd  thank  ye  fer  a  pint  o'  water.  I'm 
kind  o'  dry!" 

His  thirst  quenched  from  the  bright  tin  dipper 
which  Mrs.  Bembridge  handed  him,  he  turned  to 
bring  in  an  armful  of  flowers.  Luella  followed 


Turned  Out  145 

him  close,  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  explanation. 
And  Mrs.  Bembridge,  showing  no  sign  of  her 
bewilderment,  hobbled  at  their  heels  with  the 
candle. 

When  Andy  had  gathered  up  a  full  armful  of 
dahlias,  hollyhocks,  asters,  and  meadowsweet  from 
the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  Luella  took  them  from 
him. 

"  Give  me  those !  "  she  said.  "  And  take  all  the 
rest  around  to  the  parsonage.  But  don't  tell  Mrs. 
Goodridge  I'm  coming  over!  Be  sure  an'  don't 
tell  her,  Andy.  Just  say  I  sent  the  flowers !  " 

"  Co-rect,  Luelly !  "  answered  the  boy,  jumping 
into  the  wagon.  The  word  "  co-rect "  was  one 
which  had  but  recently  come  to  Westcock;  and 
Andy  refused  to  use  any  other  when  this  could  be 
made  to  serve. 

"  Good  night ! "  he  called,  as  the  wagon  went 
bumping  dimly  down  the  lane. 

"  Good-bye !  "  answered  Luella,  with  a  sudden 
catch  in  her  throat.  It  was  not  Andy,  but  her 
youth,  her  old  life,  to  which  she  was  bidding  fare- 
well. She  watched  the  team  fairly  out  of  sight,  — 
the  horse  was  white,  and  she  could  see  it  for  some 
distance  down  the  road.  Then,  her  arms  filled  with 
the  great  bundle  of  bloom,  she  turned  to  Mrs.  Bem- 
bridge. whose  candle  had  been  blown  out. 

"  Hain't  ye  ben  a-robbin'  yer  garden  ?  "    asked 


146  The  Heart  That  Knows 

the  old  woman,  as  a  roundabout  expression  of  her 
wonder. 

"  Oh !  "  cried  the  girl,  with  a  shaking  voice,  "  it 
ain't  my  garden  any  more.  My  uncle  has  turned 
me  out.  I've  only  you  to  come  to !  " 

"  An'  you  done  jest  right,  a-comin'  to  me, 
Sweetie !  "  was  the  unequivocal  response.  "  It's 
a  proud  an'  glad  woman  I  be  this  night,  that  ye've 
understood  me  so.  Fer  I  couldn't  love  me  own 
darter,  if  I  had  one,  better'n  I  love  you,  Luelly 
Warden.  An'  that's  God's  truth!" 

She  put  a  sturdy  arm  around  the  girl's  waist, 
and  led  her  into  the  house. 

A  few  months  later,  when  the  country  was  buried 
in  snow,  and  the  tides  chafed  harshly  through 
tumbled  and  mud-stained  ice,  the  child  was  born. 
It  was  a  boy,  dark  and  dark-haired,  like  certain  of 
Jim's  forebears;  and  when  it  was  eight  days  old 
the  rector  christened  it  Seth,  which  had  been  the 
name  of  Luella's  father. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

JIM   AND   MELISSA 

As  the  G.  G.  Goodridge  went  sailing  down  the 
bay,  that  blowing  summer  afternoon,  Jim  Calder 
had  no  power  to  think.  The  conviction  of  Luella's 
unfaithfulness  had  numbed  his  brain.  He  went 
about  his  duties  efficiently,  but  without  seeming 
to  be  conscious  that  the  men  obeying  his  orders 
were  alive.  The  ship's  company,  from  the  captain 
—  and  Melissa  —  down  to  the  cabin-boy,  appeared 
to  him  like  so  many  automata.  His  look  was  a 
safeguard  against  interrogation.  No  one  was  dar- 
ing enough  to  infringe  upon  his  reserve.  He 
saw  the  last  of  Westcock  village,  the  tall  poplars 
of  Westcock  House,  the  dykes  of  Tantramar 
Mouth,  disappear  behind  the  oak  groves  of  Wood 
Point,  —  but  did  not  realize  what  he  saw.  Beau- 
sejour  faded  behind  him,  and  the  Minudie  hills; 
and  toward  sunset,  after  passing  the  Joggins  and 
Grindstone  Island,  the  waters  of  Fundy  grew  less 
turbid.  The  yellow  Tantramar  silt  was  being  left 
behind.  Happening  to  notice  this  small  matter,  as 
he  stared  over  the  ship's  rail,  a  conviction  took 

i47 


148          The  Heart  That  Knows 

form  in  Jim's  mind  that  this  was  his  last  farewell 
to  Tantramar.  Yet  not  his,  surely,  but  some 
other's,  —  for  he  could  not  believe  that  this  man 
looking  over  the  rail  was  himself. 

Late  that  night,  during  his  watch,  as  he  walked 
the  deck  under  clear  stars  and  a  moderating  wind, 
the  faculty  of  thought  came  back  to  Jim's  brain, 
and  in  agony  of  spirit  he  went  over  and  over  what 
had  happened.  As  to  what  he  had  done  in  leaving 
Luella  without  a  word,  he  had,  strange  to  say,  no 
misgivings.  It  was  for  her  own  sake;  —  he  felt 
that  he  would  surely  have  killed  her,  if  he  had  gone 
to  her  there  where  she  waited  for  him  on  the  dyke. 
To  his  absolutely  sincere  mind  the  evidence  of  her 
baseness  and  treachery  was  so  conclusive  that  it 
was  inconceivable  to  question  it.  Yet,  he  loved 
her,  —  though  with  a  sort  of  horror,  —  and  he 
would  not  have  any  one  know  what  she  had  done. 
He  would  not  ever,  as  long  as  he  lived,  make  any 
explanation.  She  would  need  none.  She  would  un- 
derstand only  too  well.  She  would  have  to  hold 
her  tongue,  for  her  own  sake;  and  he  would  bear 
the  blame,  to  save  her.  He  knew  what  Westcock 
would  think  of  him,  for  deserting  her  under  such 
circumstances.  When  the  child  came,  they  would 
take  it  for  granted  it  was  his.  What  a  scoundrel 
the  rector  would  think  him.  What  would  Captain 
Britton  think;  and  honest  Ezra  Boltenhouse!  He 


Jim  and  Melissa  149 

would  leave  the  ship  before  they  could  hear  of  that. 
He  would  leave  the  ship,  and  change  his  name, 
and  cut  himself  off  for  ever  from  his  own  people. 
Never  again  would  he  see  the  dear  green  marshes, 
the  winding  creeks  and  uplands  of  Westcock,  the 
red  flats  and  yellow  tides  of  his  unstable  Tantra- 
mar.  But  Luella  would  be  saved.  Her  treachery 
would  never  be  known.  And  she  would  know,  — 
she  would  understand,  —  that  he  had  spared  her. 
Between  these  thoughts,  and  sudden  recurring 
bursts  of  inward  fury  that  found  expression  only 
in  convulsive  workings  of  his  face,  he  wore  out  his 
strength  as  the  night  wore  out.  In  the  first  ghost- 
pallor  of  dawn  he  leaned  against  the  mast,  quivering 
with  weakness.  He  was  on  the  brink  of  collapse. 
Never  before  had  he  been  so  near  it.  Never  after 
was  he  to  come  so  near  it  again,  till  the  time  of 
passing  over  the  great  and  final  brink.  But  he  was 
only  a  boy,  —  and  called  upon  to  bear  far  more 
than  a  man's  portion  of  calamity.  His  knees  trem- 
bled, the  steady-sloping  deck  seemed  to  reel,  and  he 
clutched  at  the  mast  for  support.  Then,  up  through 
the  failing  confusion  of  his  brain  a  sharp  memory 
thrust  itself.  That  note  —  that  fatal  note  of  Lu- 
ella's !  What  had  he  done  with  it  ?  If  any  one  else 
should  see  it,  she  would  be  ruined  irrevocably.  He 
must  destroy  it.  The  cloud  passed  off  his  brain; 


150  The  Heart  That  Knows 

and  his  strength  returned,  as  he  feverishly  searched 
every  pocket. 

It  was  not  to  be  found.  He  could  not  remember 
anything  that  had  happened  for  some  time  after 
reading  that  note.  But  he  must  have  left  it  on  the 
cabin  table.  He  almost  ran  to  see,  —  but  one  glance 
down  the  companion,  where  the  table  was  in  full 
view  under  the  swinging  lamp,  showed  him  it  was 
not  there.  Surely,  he  told  himself,  Melissa  must 
have  picked  it  up. 

It  would  be  two  or  three  hours  yet  before  he 
could  see  Melissa,  —  but  he  was  no  longer  weak. 
When  his  watch  was  ended  he  could  not  go  to  his 
bunk,  but  kept  pacing  tirelessly  up  and  down  in  the 
growing  light.  The  dawn  came  in  lavender  and 
rose,  then  gold,  then  blue,  —  and  with  the  blue  of 
full  day  came  Melissa  up  to  the  deck,  her  face 
bright  with  morning. 

As  Jim  hurried  toward  her,  his  eyes  haggard  and 
his  mouth  white  and  set,  she  turned  pale.  She  had 
expected  that  at  this  hour  of  the  morning  he  would 
be  in  his  bunk,  after  his  watch.  For  one  instant 
she  almost  imagined  that  he  had  found  her  out,  so 
unnatural  and  almost  savage  was  his  look.  But 
her  courage  never  failed  her. 

"  Good  morning,  Jim  —  my  poor  friend,  Jim !  " 
she  said,  softly,  in  a  voice  of  tender  understand- 
ing. 


Jim  and  Melissa  151 

"  That  letter!  "  he  demanded,  under  his  breath. 
"I  can't  find  it!" 

"  You  dropped  it  on  the  floor,  poor  boy !  "  an- 
swered the  girl. 

"You  never  left  it  there!"  he  panted,  his  eyes 
widening  with  sudden  terror. 

"  Of  course  not,  Jim !  "  she  answered,  reprov- 
ingly. "  Do  you  think  I'd  leave  it  for  some  one  else 
to  see?  Do  you  think  I  could  be  so  horrid  as 
that?" 

"  No,  of  course  not,  Melissy !  "  he  responded, 
suddenly  humble,  now  that  he  knew  the  letter  was 
safe.  "  I  know  how  good  you  are !  Best  give  the 
—  best  give  it  to  me,  Melissy !  " 

"  What  for,  Jim  ?  It  wouldn't  be  good  for  you 
to  keep  such  a  dreadful  thing  as  that.  It'ld  be  bad 
for  you.  It's  just  morbid,  Jim,  for  you  to  want 
it!" 

"  I  want  to  tear  it  up !  "  he  answered,  heavily. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I'd  keep  —  that  ?  Give  it  to  me, 
M'lissy!" 

"  I  did  tear  it  up,  right  off,  Jim !  "  answered  Me- 
lissa. "  Do  you  suppose  I'd  want  to  keep  a  thing  like 
that?  I  tore  it  up  into  little,  teeny  bits,  right  off, 
and  threw  it  overboard!  It  fairly  burned  in  my 
pocket,  every  minute  since  I  got  it!  I  was  that 
glad  I  can't  tell  you,  Jim,  when  it  was  all  gone!  " 

"  It  can't  never  be  all  gone,  Melissy,  —  never  so 


152  The  Heart  That  Knows 

long's  I  live,  it  can't ! "  said  Jim,  his  eyes  wander- 
ing away  from  her  face  and  out  over  the  morning 
waves. 

A  pang  of  savage  jealousy  surprised  the  girl's 
heart. 

"  But  why  were  you  so  terribly  anxious  about 
it,  Jim  ?  "  she  demanded,  as  it  were  in  spite  of  her- 
self. "  You  looked  as  if  you  were  ready  to  kill 
some  one  if  you  didn't  get  it  that  very  minute!  " 

She  knew  she  was  foolish  to  talk  this  way,  but 
she  could  not  help  it.  For  the  moment  her  self- 
control  had  weakened.  Jim,  however,  was  now 
too  dull,  from  the  long  stress,  to  notice  anything 
very  clearly.  The  simple  question  was  all  he 
heeded.  It  called  for  a  simple  answer. 

"  It  would  'a'  ruined  her,  if  anybody  but  you'd  'a' 
found  it !  "  And  turning  away  abruptly  he  went 
down  to  his  bunk,  to  escape  Melissa  and  every  one 
else  for  a  time.  His  head  felt  light,  and  he  was 
not  very  sure  of  his  steps,  and  he  knew  his  bunk 
was  the  place  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

TO   SOUTHERN    SEAS 

UNHINDERED  by  any  caprice  of  wind,  or  tide,  or 
fog,  the  G.  G.  Goodridge  arrived  at  the  busy 
wharves  of  St.  John,  where  she  added  to  her  cargo 
a  small  but  valuable  consignment  of  manufactured 
goods  for  Matanzas,  Cuba.  The  stuff  was  hurried 
aboard,  and  the  ship  cleared  again  at  once.  Jim's 
duties  as  second  mate  kept  him  toiling  through  al- 
most every  hour  of  the  twenty- four;  and  though 
he  could  not  have  told  afterward  what  he  did  or 
how  he  did  it,  his  work  was  well  done.  Time  he 
stole  to  write  a  letter  to  his  mother,  —  a  little  letter 
of  love  and  farewell,  merely,  declaring  that  he  was 
well,  but  making  not  the  remotest  reference  to  Lu- 
ella  or  to  the  abruptness  of  his  leaving.  That  letter 
had  worried  Mrs.  Calder,  not  by  reason  of  its  con- 
spicuous omissions,  but  because  of  an  unwonted  in- 
decision in  the  handwriting,  which  gave  her  an 
impression  of  sickness. 

This  impression  was  not  misleading.     As  Jim 

'53 


154  The  Heart  That  Knows 

wrote,  he  was  holding  his  brain  to  the  task  with 
difficulty.  Strange  whims  of  spelling  strove  to  ex- 
press themselves  through  his  pen.  As  he  glanced 
about  the  cabin  everything  seemed  unreal  to  him,  — 
and  he  himself  the  most  curiously  unreal  of  all. 
Till  the  ship  was  once  more  under  way,  however,  — 
till  the  steeple-crowned  rocks,  the  dark  heights  of 
Partridge  Island,  and  the  last  faint  smoke  of  the 
city  had  sunk  below  the  horizon,  —  he  held  him- 
self in  hand.  Then  the  terrifying  unreality  got  the 
better  of  him,  —  and  the  last  vague  remembrance 
he  had  was  of  strong  hands  jerking  him  back  vio- 
lently from  the  bulwarks. 

The  captain  —  who  was  the  only  doctor  the 
G.  G.  Goodridge  could  boast  —  pronounced  Jim's 
case  brain  fever.  It  certainly  seemed  to  be  a  fever ; 
and  unquestionably  it  attacked  the  brain.  Jim  was 
either  delirious  or  in  a  stupor  for  nearly  three 
weeks.  With  the  aid  of  two  large  volumes  called 
"  The  Home  Physician,"  and  a  well-stocked  medi- 
cine chest,  Captain  Britton  doctored  Jim  solicit- 
ously; while  Melissa  nursed  him  intelligently  night 
and  day,  and  probably  saved  his  life  by  omitting  to 
give  him  most  of  her  father's  doses.  Matanzas  was 
reached;  and  passing  the  little  fort  at  the  Canimar 
mouth,  the  ship  cast  anchor  at  the  head  of  the  beau- 
tiful blue  and  beryl  bay,  where  the  bright  opal-hued 
city  basks  in  the  sun  between  the  windings  of  the 


To  Southern  Seas  155 

San  Juan  and  the  Yumuri.  This  was  in  the  heat 
of  early  September ;  —  and  Jim,  in  his  hot  bunk, 
babbled  of  the  cool,  red  rush  of  Tantramar.  He 
knew  nothing  of  where  he  was,  —  or  of  the  rector's 
letter,  which  caught  him  here  the  day  after  the  ship 
got  in.  Melissa,  as  his  nurse,  took  charge  of  it,  — 
and  took  also  the  precaution  to  read  it.  She  found 
it  so  convincing  that  she  could  not  run  the  risk  of 
letting  it  ever  reach  Jim's  eyes.  She  tore  it  up,  and 
dropped  it  over  the  side  for  the  pelicans  to  consider. 
It  was  not  till  Cuba  had  long  been  dropped  be- 
hind into  the  wastes  of  the  purple  Caribbean  that 
Jim  came  to  himself.  His  sanity  returned  all  at 
once,  —  but  his  strength  so  slowly  that  for  long  it 
seemed  as  if  his  life  might  flicker  out  on  any  one 
of  the  puffs  of  hot  air  which  came  spasmodically 
from  the  torrid  coasts.  Not  till  the  turbid  mouths 
of  the  Orinoco  were  passed  did  life  once  more  take 
hold  upon  him,  and  give  him  once  more  the  sem- 
blance of  a  man.  When  he  was  again  on  deck,  he 
seemed,  outwardly,  to  have  put  by  all  remembrance 
of  Tantramar  and  the  tragedy  that  had  gone  before 
his  sailing.  He  was  deeply  grateful  to  Melissa  for 
her  devoted  nursing,  —  but  in  a  subtle  way  he  made 
her  feel  that  he  was  not  grateful  for  the  life  which 
she  had  saved.  When  the  old  tan,  at  last,  came  back 
to  his  face,  the  vigour  to  his  voice  and  form,  his  at- 
titude toward  Melissa  was  always  chastened,  as  it 


156  The  Heart  That  Knows 

were,  by  a  sort  of  distant  reverence  which  she  did 
not  dare  to  assail.  At  times  she  came  near  to  los- 
ing her  self-possession  and  betraying  her  passion  to 
him,  as  she  saw  herself  drawing  no  nearer  to  the 
goal  for  which  she  had  so  desperately  striven.  A 
jealousy  which  she  had  never  known  before,  and 
which  she  despised  with  all  her  heart,  took  hold 
upon  her  at  times,  as  she  saw  that  Jim  was  more 
than  ever  unconscious  of  her  womanhood.  She 
even  began  to  have  a  misgiving,  perhaps  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life.  Was  it  possible  that  defeat 
might  lurk  in  her  victory,  that  after  all  her  triumph 
might  prove  barren?  As  she  writhed  through  the 
nights  of  heat,  thinking  this  thought  over  and  over, 
she  would  make  up  her  mind  to  a  bolder  policy  with 
Jim;  but  always,  when  she  looked  into  his  eyes,  she 
became  afraid.  The  novelty  of  this  fear  daunted 
her  own  judgment.  And  she  concluded,  at  last, 
to  wait.  Time,  she  felt,  must  fight  on  her  side. 
She  would  wait,  no  matter  how  long,  till  the  un- 
questionable hour  should  come. 

When  the  G.  G.  Goodridge  made  harbour  at 
Montevideo,  Melissa  was  all  eagerness  to  get 
ashore;  so  Captain  Britton  took  her  with  him 
when  he  went  to  present  his  papers  to  the  consignee. 
Here  he  got  the  ship's  mail,  —  which  Melissa  gaily 
took  charge  of,  while  he  occupied  himself  with  the 
business  of  his  cargo.  There  proved  to  be  a  letter 


To  Southern  Seas  157 

for  Melissa  herself,  from  her  aunt,  telling  of  the 
talk  in  Westcock  about  Luella,  and  effectively  evis- 
cerating Jim  for  his  action  in  forsaking  the  girl. 
Over  this  Melissa  smiled  sourly.  What  most  con- 
cerned her,  however,  were  two  letters  for  Jim.  One 
she  knew  to  be  from  his  mother.  With  her  usual 
cool  sagacity  and  foresight,  she  had  taken  pains  to 
note  Mrs.  Calder's  handwriting  in  the  past.  That 
letter  went  back  into  the  pile.  But  the  other  was 
from  Luella.  That  disappeared  smoothly  into  Me- 
lissa's pocket. 

Not  till  hours  later,  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own 
cabin,  did  Melissa  bring  this  letter  forth  to  really 
examine  it.  It  was  a  thick  missive,  bearing  double 
postage,  and  stamped  with  a  date  just  ten  days  after 
the  sailing  of  the  G.  G.  Goodridge.  Melissa  fin- 
gered it  with  a  curiosity  less  cool  and  triumphant 
than  she  would  have  evinced  a  month  ago.  Doubt 
and  failure  had  at  last  succeeded  in  fretting  a  tiny 
flaw  in  the  armour  of  her  heartlessness,  and  she 
was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  shame.  She  had  in- 
tended to  read  the  letter,  to  glut  her  jealousy  upon 
its  grief  and  its  vain  pleadings.  But  to  her  aston- 
ishment she  could  not  do  it.  Instead,  she  violently 
ripped  it  up  and  tore  it  to  tiny  pieces,  altogether  un- 
read. These  fragments  she  tied  up  securely  with 
two  iron  spikes,  and  then  dropped  the  package  into 
the  sea.  When  it  had  vanished  she  drew  a  long 


158  The  Heart  That  Knows 

breath,  and  realized  what  a  strain  it  had  been  to 
her,  —  the  possibility  of  that  letter,  and  the  possi- 
bility of  her  failing  to  intercept  it.  Now  that  the 
strain  was  over  she  felt  sick,  and  almost  hysterical. 
Coming  on  deck  a  half-hour  later  she  saw  Jim 
approaching,  and  with  an  inspiration  of  weakness 
allowed  herself  to  trip  over  a  coil  of  rope.  As  she 
fell  she  gave  a  little,  suppressed  cry  of  pain,  and 
clutched  at  her  side.  Jim,  of  course,  sprang  in- 
stantly to  pick  her  up,  and  for  a  moment  she  leaned 
upon  him.  He  inquired,  with  a  fitting  solicitude, 
if  she  were  hurt ;  but  when  she  assured  him  she  was 
not  (while  cleverly  making  it  apparent  that  she 
was),  she  found  him  quite  too  easily  reassured  upon 
the  subject.  In  a  sudden  flash  of  anger,  of  a  kind 
of  weary,  disappointed  rage,  she  tore  herself  from 
his  indifferent  arms  and  fled  back  to  her  cabin. 
That  evening  she  kept  to  her  bunk,  pleading  a  head- 
ache; but  next  morning,  heartily  ashamed  of  her 
weakness,  she  was  about  the  deck  again  with  her 
usual  careless  cheer.  She  had  caught  Jim's  look 
of  impatient  wonder,  and  was  resolved  that  she 
would  make  no  such  mistake  again. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
MELISSA'S  TRIUMPH 

AT  Montevideo  there  came  a  change  of  plans. 
Instead  of  sailing  for  a  Chilean  or  Peruvian  port, 
the  G.  G.  Goodridge  got  a  charter  for  Barcelona, 
Spain,  with  a  rather  unsavoury  cargo  which  made 
Melissa  carry  her  little  nose  high  in  air  for  some 
time.  It  was  chiefly  hides,  with  a  lot  of  dried  beef, 
and  a  miscellaneous  assortment  of  boxes,  barrels, 
and  bales,  into  the  mystery  of  which  she  made  no 
attempt  to  penetrate.  During  a  long,  sweltering 
calm  in  mid-ocean,  near  the  equator,  the  smells 
which  fumed  up  from  the  packed  hold  sickened  her, 
and  it  took  weeks  of  buffeting  with  a  clean  norther 
off  Cape  Blanco  to  bring  back  the  colour  to  her 
white  cheeks.  By  the  time  Barcelona  was  reached 
her  nose  was  acclimatized  to  smells. 

At  Barcelona  there  was  unexpected  delay  in  the 
matter  of  discharging  cargo.  For  a  time  there  was 
some  mystery  about  it,  which  the  captain,  deficient 
in  his  knowledge  of  Spanish,  could  not  fathom ;  and 

'59 


160  The  Heart  That  Knows 

every  one  on  board  the  G.  G.  Goodridge  was  get- 
ting into  a  very  bad  humour.  Then  a  lot  of  wharf 
hands  were  got  to  work  at  the  unloading,  —  but 
they  were  a  scurvy-looking,  incompetent  crew,  very 
unlike  the  nimble,  sinewy  fellows  Captain  Britton 
had  been  wont  to  find  at  this  busy  port.  Presently 
it  came  out  that  there  was  a  strike  on,  among  the 
longshoremen  and  stevedores  of  the  port.  The 
men  at  work  on  the  G.  G.  Goodridge,  it  seemed, 
were  some  of  a  gang  who  had  been  drummed  up  in 
Marseilles  and  Genoa,  and  brought  over  to  help  in 
breaking  the  strike.  They  were  nervous  and  sus- 
picious, as  well  as  ugly-tempered;  and  they  had  an 
exasperating  fashion  of  glancing  back  over  their 
shoulders  every  other  minute  as  they  worked.  The 
mate  said  it  gave  him  the  creeps  to  see  them ;  and  it 
got  on  Jim's  overstrained  nerves  till  he  felt  himself 
growing  hungry  for  an  excuse  to  smash  some  one, 
merely  as  a  relief  to  his  feelings.  His  irritation  was 
not  directed  against  any  of  these  suspicious  wharf- 
ingers, but  against  the  striking  longshoremen  who 
made  them  suspicious  and  caused  all  the  ruinous, 
nerve-racking  delay.  Strikes  were  unneeded  and 
unknown  in  Westcock ;  and  Jim  could  not  see  what 
they  were  good  for  under  any  circumstances. 

There  were  two  other  vessels  —  an  American 
full-rigged  ship  and  a  Norwegian  bark  —  unload- 
ing at  the  same  pier  with  the  G.  G.  Goodridge;  and 


Melissa's  Triumph  161 

this  pier  suddenly  became  a  sort  of  storm-centre. 
There  would  be  a  fight,  either  between  strikers  and 
police  or  strikers  and  workers,  every  morning  when 
the  men  came  aboard;  and  Captain  Britton  had  to 
issue  very  stringent  orders,  to  keep  his  crew  of 
Fundy  men  from  sallying  ashore  to  take  a  hand  in 
the  fray.  Law-abiding  but  belligerent  in  their  in- 
stincts, they  burned  to  rush  to  the  assistance  of  the 
hard-pressed  police  and  beat  some  sense  into  the 
troublesome  strikers'  heads.  In  this  desire  they  had 
the  ill-disguised  sympathy  of  both  Mr.  Boltenhouse 
and  Jim.  But  Captain  Job  Britton  was  not  a  man 
to  trifle  with,  and  his  word  was  enough. 

The  dangerous  excitement,  the  sense  of  struggle, 
were  like  wine  in  Melissa's  veins.  They  brought 
back  the  colour  to  her  cheeks,  the  dancing  fire  to  her 
eyes,  and  filled  her  with  a  kind  of  exaltation.  Un- 
der the  menace  of  impending  battle  she  regained 
her  self-confidence.  She  even  got  a  mysterious  im- 
pression —  an  intuition,  she  called  it  to  herself  — 
that  her  own  long-delayed  triumph  was  at  last 
drawing  near.  It  was  impossible  to  keep  her  out 
of  danger,  for  she  was  the  only  person  on  the  ship 
who  dared  to  disobey  her  father.  She  was  all  over 
the  ship,  wherever  the  most  was  going  on ;  and  fre- 
quently she  was  out  on  the  pier,  pretending  to 
scrutinize  the  work,  if  Mr.  Boltenhouse  or  Jim 
chanced  to  be  there.  She  was  always  on  the  pier, 


1 62  The  Heart  That  Knows 

indeed,  if  Jim  was  there,  —  and  with  Mr.  Bolten- 
house  often  enough  to  avoid  any  appearance  of  fa- 
vouritism. There  was  a  difference,  however.  When 
with  the  mate  she  was  always  close  at  his  side,  - 
"  under  his  wing,"  as  he  put  it,  bothering  him  with 
questions  and  amazing  him  with  her  cleverness  and 
insight.  When  on  the  pier  with  Jim,  on  the  other 
hand,  she  usually  held  somewhat  aloof,  not  obtrud- 
ing herself  upon  him,  but  furtively  noting  all  that 
went  on  about  him.  The  true  significance  of  this 
attitude  she  hardly  acknowledged  to  herself,  pre- 
tending it  was  a  mere  part  of  her  policy.  In  reality, 
however,  she  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  Jim  was  in 
danger,  that  some  sudden  peril  was  about  to  strike 
at  him  without  warning. 

Intuitions,  as  a  rule,  are  like  the  answers  of  the 
Delphic  Oracle.  It  is  hard  to  get  them.  And  when 
you  have  them,  it  is  still  harder  to  interpret  them 
aright.  Melissa's  prescience  was  a  true  prescience ; 
but  a  portion  of  its  truth  was  little  like  her  expecta- 
tion of  it.  Her  faith  in  a  speedy  victory  was  moving 
to  a  strange  fulfilment. 

There  came  a  morning  when  the  strikers  were 
so  violent  that  few  workers  dared  come  to  the  pier. 
Every  one  was  angry;  and  Jim  the  most  angry  of 
all.  There  were  not  enough  workmen  to  keep 
things  properly  moving,  and  the  wharf  beside  the 
G.  G.  Goodridge  was  getting  clogged.  The  gang 


Melissa's  Triumph  163 

on  the  pier  was  working  under  its  own  foreman, 
superintended  by  Jim,  who  had  picked  up  a  smatter- 
ing of  Spanish  during  his  visits  to  Havana,  Matan- 
zas,  and  other  Cuban  ports.  At  the  head  of  the 
pier  there  was  a  noise  of  ceaseless  bickering  be- 
tween the  strikers  and  the  little  cordon  of  police 
who  held  them  in  check. 

Suddenly  the  excitement  at  the  pier-head  quieted 
down,  as  if  by  magic.  The  strikers  had  grown  so 
numerous  and  so  belligerent  that  the  worried  police 
had  consented  to  a  truce  and  a  compromise.  On 
condition  that  the  strikers  should  refrain  from  forc- 
ing the  line  and  attacking  the  non-union  workmen, 
it  was  permitted  that  three  of  their  delegates  should 
come  out  on  the  pier  and  talk  to  the  gangs  who  were 
unloading  the  three  ships.  The  purpose  of  these 
delegates,  of  course,  was  to  either  persuade  or 
frighten  the  new  men  into  joining  them. 

As  soon  as  the  delegates  were  let  through,  and 
started  down  the  pier,  unhindered,  the  workmen 
understood  what  they  were  coming  for,  and  work 
began  to  lag.  Some  were  for  yielding  at  once. 
Others,  of  more  strenuous  mettle,  were  for  standing 
by  their  terms  with  the  bosses  and  fighting  the  thing 
through  at  any  cost.  These  buckled  down  to  their 
job  with  redoubled  energy,  casting  black  looks  over 
their  shoulders  at  the  rest,  and  muttering  curses 
upon  any  who  should  attempt  to  interfere  with 


1 64  The  Heart  That  Knows 

them.  The  foremen,  of  course,  straightway  set 
themselves  to  the  task  of  stiffening  the  waverers. 
Meanwhile,  for  a  minute  or  two,  Jim  stood  glancing 
from  one  group  to  another  in  bewilderment.  He 
knew  nothing  of  the  machinery  and  methods  of  a 
strike;  and  with  his  limited  Spanish  he  failed  to 
catch,  at  first,  the  phrases  that  would  have  enlight- 
ened him.  He  felt,  however,  that  there  was  new 
trouble  abroad,  and  that  the  strikers  were  making 
it.  His  jaw  set,  and  an  ugly  light  flashed  into  his 
eyes.  Melissa  thrilled  exultantly  as  she  noted  the 
change  in  his  face,  —  and  moved  a  little  nearer, 
without  thinking  what  she  was  doing.  Apparently, 
she  was  absorbed  in  the  investigation  of  a  basket 
of  coarse  laces  which  an  old  woman  was  displaying 
to  her.  The  old  woman  followed  her  movement, 
surprised;  and  Melissa,  forgetting  to  bargain,  re- 
seated herself  on  the  edge  of  a  box,  and  concluded 
a  hasty  purchase  at  a  price  which  made  the  old 
woman's  eyes  sparkle  with  triumph.  As  for  Jim, 
he  had  not  even  noticed  that  the  girl  was  on  the 
pier. 

The  delegate  who  came  to  the  G.  G.  Goodridge 
was  a  big,  swarthy,  Spanish  fellow,  with  glittering 
black  eyes  that  showed  a  great  deal  of  the  white,  and 
a  confident,  bullying  manner.  The  first  wharf-hand 
he  encountered  was  carrying  a  box  of  dried  fish. 
In  an  undertone  he  spoke  a  few  words;  whereupon 


Melissa's  Triumph  165 

the  wharf-hand,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
dropped  the  box  with  a  crash  that  split  it  open, 
grinned  deprecatingly,  and  started  off  up  the  pier. 
Jim  waited  for  the  foreman  of  the  unloading  gang 
to  interfere;  but  the  latter,  with  an  angry  yet  anx- 
ious face,  pretended  not  to  see  what  had  happened. 
The  next  man  to  whom  the  visitor  addressed 
himself  was  a  wiry  little,  surly-faced  Italian,  with 
a  red  handkerchief  tied  around  his  head.  The  Ital- 
ian went  on  with  his  work  without  showing  any 
sign  that  he  heard  what  the  striker  was  saying  to 
him.  Jim  heard,  being  only  a  few  feet  away;  but 
could  not  catch  the  drift  of  the  unfamiliar  vocabu- 
lary and  hurried,  slipshod  pronunciation.  He 
could  see,  however,  that  the  delegate  was  getting 
enraged  at  his  hearer's  aggravating  unresponsive- 
ness.  At  this  sight,  Jim's  own  wrath  boiled  higher, 
and  he  had  to  keep  a  firm  grip  on  himself  to  avoid 
interfering.  He  knew  that  in  this  matter  it  was 
his  business  to  keep  his  hands  off  and  leave  things  to 
the  foreman  to  settle.  That  was  the  counsel  of  wis- 
dom, —  but  to  his  unhappy  and  bitter  spirit  it  was 
a  hard  counsel.  He  imagined  his  fury  was  all 
against  the  insolent  strikers;  but  in  reality  it  was 
against  life,  —  it  was  upon  the  throat  of  life  itself 
that  his  fingers  were  itching  to  clutch.  The  rest 
of  the  workmen  on  the  wharf,  his  own  men  busy 
on  the  deck,  the  tall  spars  and  rigging,  the  other 


1 66          The  Heart  That  Knows 

ships  crowding  in  port,  the  hot,  pale  sky,  the  green- 
blue  water  of  the  harbour,  and  the  bright-coloured 
buildings  jostling  down  to  it,  —  all  was  unreal  to 
him,  of  as  little  significance  as  a  scene  on  a  theatre 
curtain.  Reality  was  right  there  ahead  of  him, 
where  the  big  striker  was  now  threatening  the  un- 
concerned little  workman. 

Suddenly  the  striker's  voice  rose  and  he  made  a 
savage  grab  for  the  Italian's  collar.  The  physical 
action  worked  on  Jim's  overstrained  nerves  quicker 
than  thought  itself.  Almost  in  the  same  instant  he 
was  over  a  pile  of  deals  and  face  to  face  with  the 
aggressor.  The  Italian,  jerked  violently  back- 
wards, was  writhing  in  the  effort  to  turn  and  grap- 
ple with  his  assailant.  Then  Jim's  fist  shot  out,  — 
and  the  Spaniard  went  sprawling,  while  his  furious 
victim  staggered  free. 

As  the  fellow  dropped,  Jim  caught  him  with  both 
hands  by  the  back  of  his  shirt  collar,  and  dragged 
him  to  his  feet.  Then,  shifting  his  right  hand  to  a 
grip  at  the  seat  of  his  trousers,  he  ran  him  igno- 
miniously  some  ten  or  twelve  feet  up  the  pier,  be- 
tween the  bales  of  hides,  and  with  a  well-placed 
kick  projected  him  forth  into  a  clear  space,  where 
his  discomfiture  proclaimed  itself  to  every  one 
within  eye-shot.  A  roar  of  laughter  went  up  all 
over  the  pier. 

"  Get  out  now,  you  hound,  and  go  mind  your  own 


Melissa's  Triumph  167 

business !  "  commanded  Jim,  in  awkward  but  very 
intelligible  Spanish.  Then  he  turned  on  his  heel 
and  strode  coolly  back  to  where  he  had  dropped 
his  tally-sheet. 

If  Jim  had  been  more  experienced  he  would  not 
have  been  so  unconcerned  in  his  confidence  that  the 
affair  was  settled.  The  Spaniard,  half-dazed  by  a 
method  of  handling  which  was  so  novel  to  him, 
picked  himself  up  slowly,  at  first.  Then  the  full 
ignominy  of  his  defeat  rushed  over  him,  the  public 
shame  of  it.  His  rage  blazed  into  madness.  He 
was  no  longer  the  swaggering  bully.  Half-crouch- 
ing, silent,  deadly,  he  darted  between  the  barrels 
like  a  running  weasel.  His  long  knife  flashed  out, 
and  he  leaped  straight  at  Jim's  back,  stabbing.  It 
was  all  so  swift  that  not  a  man  moved,  not  a  voice 
cried  out  in  warning.  But  Melissa's  instinct  had 
been  even  swifter  than  the  Spaniard's  hate.  She 
had  seemed  to  see  everything  just  a  thought  before 
it  happened,  —  and  even  as  the  knife  flashed  down- 
wards she  had  slipped  between,  with  a  gasp.  The 
blade  went  into  her  side,  right  to  the  hilt. 

Jim  whirled  about,  amazed,  and  caught  her  in 
his  arms.  A  savage  cry  went  up  from  the  pier  and 
ships.  Jim  forgot  to  defend  himself ;  but  before  the 
madman  could  strike  again,  the  little  Italian,  leap- 
ing upon  him  nimbly,  had  stabbed  him  clean  to  the 
heart.  Even  in  that  moment  the  picture  that 


1 68  The  Heart  That  Knows 

stamped  itself  whimsically  on  Jim's  mind  was  the 
radiance  on  the  face  of  the  little  Italian  as  he  sprang 
and  stabbed  home. 

Jim  looked  down  at  the  white  face  upon  his 
shoulder,  the  small  form  drooping  in  his  arms,  the 
crimson  spreading  quickly  upon  the  bosom  of  the 
soft  white  frock.  For  a  second  he  stood  motionless, 
astounded,  while  pier  and  ships  hummed  with  com- 
ing battle.  As  he  stared  down  upon  Melissa's  face, 
her  half-closed,  already  darkening  eyes  opened  wide 
to  his.  From  their  depths  her  great  and  longing 
passion  declared  itself.  A  shock  of  overwhelming 
surprise  set  him  trembling;  and  into  that  intense 
look,  which  strove  to  search  his  very  soul,  came  in- 
stantly an  eager  demand.  A  rush  of  emotion  — 
not  love  at  all,  but  immeasurable  tenderness  and 
pity  —  went  over  him.  He  bent  and  kissed  her 
on  the  lips.  But  even  at  that  moment,  his  thought 
fled  with  an  unutterable  anguish  of  desire  back  to 
the  green  countryside  of  Tantramar,  and  the  lips 
of  the  woman  he  loved;  and  a  sob  strangled  in  his 
throat.  To  the  girl,  however,  dying  in  his  arms, 
it  seemed  that  that  sob  was  for  her.  The  ebbing 
life  surged  back,  for  a  second,  into  heart  and  brain. 
Her  lips  clung  to  his,  and  she  whispered : 

"  Did  I  save  your  life,  Jim?  Twice,  now,  I've 
saved  you.  Tell  me  I've  saved  you,  Jim." 

"  Yes,  M'lissy,  dear,  you've  saved  my  worthless 


Melissa's  Triumph  169 

life,"  he  answered.  "  But  you  shall  not  go  —  you 
must  not  go  —  we  must  save  you !  "  —  he  went  on, 
picking  her  up  and  rushing  up  the  gangway  with 
her,  in  a  sudden  terror  at  the  grayness  spreading 
upon  her  white  face.  Even  he,  for  all  his  inexpe- 
rience, could  not  misunderstand  that  look. 

But  into  Melissa's  eyes  came  a  passion  of  triumph 
and  of  utter  gladness.  Not  for  one  instant  did 
it  enter  her  strange,  unswerving,  unrelenting 
brain  to  confess  her  crime  and  make  restitution  for 
the  ruin  she  had  wrought.  Instead  of  that,  her 
darkening  consciousness  held  only  the  exultant 
thought  that  at  last  Jim  was  hers.  Feeling  his 
arms  about  her,  she  hardly  noticed  the  fierce  agony 
in  her  side.  In  her  brain  she  kept  repeating :  "  I 
have  saved  him  —  I  have  saved  him  —  I  have  the 
right  to  him  —  he  is  mine  — "  till  suddenly  all 
stopped. 

As  he  reached  the  head  of  the  gangway,  Jim 
felt  a  shudder  pass  through  the  light  form.  All  at 
once  it  seemed  to  slacken  and  grow  heavier.  And 
he  knew  that  she  was  dead. 

The  next  moment  Captain  Britton  met  him,  his 
ruddy  face  white  as  chalk,  his  eyes  terrible  with 
horror  and  reproach.  He  snatched  Jim's  burden 
from  him  with  a  hoarse  cry  of  "  Give  her  to  me !  " 
But  as  the  lifeless  weight  sank  inertly  against  his 


170  The  Heart  That  Knows 

bosom  he  staggered,  stared  about  him  wildly,  then 
fixed  Jim  with  a  dreadful  look. 

"  She's '  dead !  It's  your  fault !  Get  out  of  my 
sight !  "  he  said.  Then  he  turned  and  carried  her  to 
the  cabin. 

These  wild  words  Jim  hardly  heard,  and  heeded 
not  at  all.  In  a  daze  he  followed  to  the  very  foot  of 
the  companion.  But  there  he  stopped,  with  a  reali- 
zation that  he  had  no  right  to  intrude  upon  the 
father's  grief.  For  a  second  or  two  he  hesitated, 
with  a  bitter  and  desolate  thought  of  Luella.  He 
knew  that  he  was  shocked,  but  in  no  way  pro- 
foundly grieved,  at  Melissa's  death.  He  resented  in 
himself,  dully,  the  lack  of  this  deep  grief.  He 
wondered  why  he  could  not  have  loved  this  girl,  so 
true  and  so  unselfish,  —  who  had  almost  joyously 
given  her  life  for  him,  —  instead  of  that  other  who 
had  so  vilely  betrayed  him. 

As  he  stood  there,  heavily  pondering,  a  noise  of 
shouts  and  trampling  feet  went  over  his  head  with 
a  rush,  bringing  him  back  to  his  surroundings.  It 
was  Ezra  Boltenhouse  leading  out  the  crew  of  the 
G.  G.  Goodridge  to  take  vengeance  on  the  long- 
shoremen. Sharply  Jim  remembered  that  things 
were  happening  on  the  pier.  He  sprang  up  the 
companion,  and  followed  as  fast  as  he  could  run. 

Things  had  already  been  happening  on  the  pier. 
The  body  of  the  murderer  had  been  pitched  over 


Melissa's  Triumph 


into  the  harbour.  The  mob  of  strikers  about  the 
pier-head  had  broken  through  the  police-line  with 
a  yell  and  were  now  surging  down  the  pier.  Half  a 
dozen  of  the  feebler  spirits  among  the  wharf-hands, 
in  a  panic,  had  run  to  meet  and  join  them.  The 
rest,  drawing  their  knives  or  snatching  up  whatever 
might  be  made  to  serve  as  a  weapon,  awaited  the 
clash  in  a  sullen  fury.  The  death  of  Melissa,  whose 
pale,  unusual  beauty  they  had  extravagantly  ad- 
mired, had  made  them  eager  for  vengeance. 

As  the  crew  of  the  G.  G.  Goodridge  charged  up 
the  pier  the  crew  of  the  American  ship  came  tum- 
bling out  with  a  cheer  and  joined  them.  The  mob, 
seeing  now  that  they  had  undertaken  too  much, 
paused  irresolutely.  Those  who  turned  their  heads 
saw  that  the  little  line  of  police  was  coming  down 
behind  them.  The  next  moment  the  men  of  the 
Goodridge  were  upon  them. 

Ezra  Boltenhouse  was  in  front,  swinging  a  cap- 
stan-bar which  he  used  like  a  flail,  his  great  strokes 
clearing  a  path  before  him.  But  Jim,  who  was  a 
swift  runner,  came  up  the  next  instant,  and  thrust 
his  way  to  Ezra's  side.  In  his  haste,  not  to  be  left 
behind,  he  had  forgotten  to  snatch  up  a  weapon  of 
any  kind.  But  with  his  naked  hands  he  darted 
straight  at  the  man  before  him,  a  tall  fellow  whose 
eyes  had  scowled  for  a  second  into  his.  Jim  made 
good  his  hold  upon  the  fellow's  throat  with  such  a 


172  The  Heart  That  Knows 

grip  that  his  chin  went  up,  his  eyes  bulged,  and  he 
fell  backwards,  with  Jim  on  top  of  him;  and  the 
knife  dropped  from  his  ringers.  As  the  two  lay 
grappling,  the  American  sailors  came  up  on  the  run, 
cursing  joyously,  and  trampling  them  under  foot,  — 
being  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  look  where  they 
were  stepping,  and  very  much  afraid  lest  they  should 
be  cheated  out  of  their  fair  share  of  the  fight.  Be- 
fore their  onset  the  mob  was  hurled  back  upon  the 
police,  and  the  whole  yelling,  grappling,  struggling 
mass  was  swept  up  the  pier. 

When  the  storm  had  passed  over  him,  Jim  found 
himself  dazed  and  battered,  but  fervently  concen- 
trated, through  it  all,  on  the  task  of  throttling  his 
enemy.  The  fellow's  face  was  purple  already,  his 
mouth  open  in  an  unpleasant  way ;  and  with  a  swift 
revulsion  Jim  realized  that  he  did  not  at  all  want 
to  kill  him.  Loosening  his  vindictive  clutch  he 
sprang  to  his  feet.  The  man  got  up  slowly,  and 
drew  deep  breaths. 

"  Git !  "  commanded  Jim. 

The  fellow  did  not  understand  Jim's  English,  but 
the  gesture  that  went  with  it  was  intelligible.  He 
looked  around  furiously.  His  companions  —  those 
of  them  who  were  not  lying  wounded  further  up 
the  pier  or  being  dragged  off  in  the  hands  of  the 
police  —  were  now  scattering  and  running  for  their 
lives.  He  looked  again,  anxiously,  at  Jim.  Then, 


Melissa's  Triumph  173 

having  regained  his  breath,  he  ran  to  the  pier-edge 
and  dived  into  the  tide.  Jim  stared,  wondering  if 
he  would  have  to  plunge  in  to  the  rescue.  But  a 
second  later  the  fellow  came  up,  and  struck  out 
toward  a  fishing-craft  near  by.  Seeing  that  he  was 
a  good  swimmer,  Jim  turned  away,  and  straightway 
forgot  all  about  him.  The  fight  was  over.  The 
men,  sailors  and  wharf-hands  all  together,  were  re- 
turning noisily  down  the  pier.  Jim  turned  his  back 
on  them  all,  sat  down  on  a  barrel  close  to  the  edge, 
and  got  out  his  pipe.  The  look  upon  his  face 
effectually  forbade  intrusion. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   SPELL   OF   THE    EAST 

As  Jim  sat  there,  smoking  and  staring  out  sea- 
ward, he  felt  that  Fate  had  crushed  him  again  to 
earth.  It  was  not  grief  for  Melissa's  death,  — 
he  was  surprised  to  find  how  little  that  bore  upon 
him  as  a  personal  loss,  —  but  it  was  the  sense  that 
he  had  caused  her  death,  that  overwhelmed  him. 
He  felt  it  intolerable  that  she  should  have  sacri- 
ficed herself  for  him,  when  he  could  give  nothing 
in  return.  He  had  never  dreamed  of  her  loving 
him;  and  even  now,  as  he  marvelled  at  the  revela- 
tion, his  whole  heart  went  back  to  Luella  with  a 
rush  of  longing  which  so  wrenched  him  that  his 
pipe  fell,  unheeded,  into  the  water.  His  eyes  closed, 
and  he  felt  her  eyes  burning  into  them,  terrible  with 
love,  and  pain,  and  reproach.  Her  hands  seemed 
to  draw  him  close,  her  lips  seemed  to  touch  his  own, 
—  and  a  groan  forced  itself  from  his  throat.  The 
sound  of  it  brought  him  to  himself,  and  he  looked 
around  uneasily.  No  one  had  heard  it.  No  one 


The  Spell  of  the  East  175 

was  near.  And  he  drifted  back  miserably  to  the 
thought  of  the  heart-broken  man  in  the  cabin,  bend- 
ing over  the  body  of  his  only  child.  He  pictured 
the  little  white-frocked  figure,  darkly  blood-stained, 
the  abundant,  ruddy  hair  thrown  far  back  from  the 
small,  dead  face,  —  and  he  saw  the  strong  face  of 
Job  Britton  distorted  with  grief.  It  was  that  look 
on  Job  Britton's  face  that  turned  the  knife  in  his 
heart.  He  repeated  to  himself  the  words,  "  Get  out 
of  my  sight !  " —  and  he  told  himself  they  were  just. 
The  G.  G.  Goodridge  was  no  longer  any  place  for 
him.  Nor  did  he  want  to  have  anything  more  to  do 
with  her.  Upon  this  thought  came  a  sudden  vision 
of  what  he  would  do.  He  would  cut  himself  off  for 
ever  from  his  ship,  and  his  own  people.  He  would 
sail  to  the  China  seas,  shipping  only  for  voyages  in 
Eastern  waters,  and  return  no  more  to  the  waters 
of  Fundy.  And  he  would  try  his  best  to  hide  him- 
self from  the  search  of  memory,  by  taking  a  new 
name. 

This  resolve  was  sudden,  but  clear  and  final. 
Under  the  impulse  of  it  he  sprang  up,  hurried  on 
board,  and  sought  out  Ezra  Boltenhouse. 

"  Mr.  Boltenhouse,"  said  he,  abruptly,  "  I'm  going 
to  quit  this  ship.  Would  you  kindly  git  my  papers 
from  the  captain  ?  " 

"Why  —  but  —  Jim,  my  lad!"  stammered  the 
mate,  half-comprehending,  and  nevertheless  bewil- 


176  The  Heart  That  Knows 

dered.  "  What  d'ye  mean  ?  Ye  can't  quit  the  ship 
that  way.  We  need  you,  right  here ! " 

"  I  know  the  captain'll  give  me  my  papers, 
an'  let  me  go,  glad  enough,"  said  Jim,  heavily. 
"  This  ship  ain't  no  place  for  me,  Ezra.  He'd  al- 
ways be  remembering  it  was  me  that  killed  her,  so  to 
speak.  An'  I  want  to  git  away.  The  G.  G.  Good- 
ridge  is  only  a  bit  o'  Westcock,  anyways,  Ezra. 
She  talks  to  me,  nights,  of  Purdy's  shipyard,  — 
and  oftentimes  when  the  wind  roars  in  her  ropes  I 
hear  the  '  Bito '  rushing,  —  an'  I  just  can't  stand 
it.  Let  me  git  out,  Ezra !  " 

The  mate  laid  a  massive  hand  on  Jim's  shoulder. 

"  Well,  lad,"  said  he,  slowly,  considering  as  he 
spoke,  "  I  reckon  as  how  you'd  ought  to  know 
best.  I  hain't  got  no  idee  what  was  wrong  with 
you  afore  this  awful  day.  But  any  one  could  see 
there  was  somethin'  wrong,  terrible  wrong.  An' 
the  poor  little  girl  yonder  seen  it,  too.  But  another 
thing  I  seen,  that  you  didn't  see,  Jim,  —  an'  nobody 
seen,  not  even  her  own  father,  but  only  me,  —  that 
she  was  jest  eatin'  her  little  heart  out  fer  you,  Jim." 

"I  never  knew  she  cared,  —  not  till  to-day!" 
answered  Jim,  hanging  his  head.  "  Because  she 
cared  —  that's  another  reason  I'm  goin'.  He 
knows  it  now !  He  said  to  me,  '  Git  out  o'  my 
sight!'" 

"Oh!"   exclaimed  Mr.   Boltenhouse,   "he  told 


The  Spell  of  the  East  177 

you  that,  did  he?  Well,  but  he's  a  just  man,  Jim,  an' 
he'll  never  hold  it  agin  you  after  he  comes  to  him- 
self a  bit.  He  didn't  know  what  he  was  sayin',  he 
was  that  crazy.  But  I'll  git  your  papers  for  you, 
Jim,  jest  as  soon's  it's  decent  to  bother  him  about 
it." 

"  Thank  you,  Ezra !  An'  the  sooner  you  can  fix 
it,  the  better  for  me.  An'  with  your  leave,  I'd  like 
to  go  ashore  soon's  I  get  my  chest  packed  up." 

"  I  wish  you  didn't  take  it  so  hard,  lad !  "  said  the 
mate,  kindly.  "  But  I  know  you'll  come  out  all 
right.  It's  sorry  I'll  be  to  lose  you.  An'  if  ever  I 
kin  be  of  use  to  you,  Jim,  jest  you  count  on  me!  " 

The  two  gripped  hands,  and  Jim  turned  away  to 
his  cabin  to  get  his  few  belongings  stowed.  He  could 
not  endure  to  look  again  on  Melissa's  dead  face. 
And  he  shrunk  from  seeing  Melissa's  father  again. 
At  dusk  that  evening  he  went  ashore,  with  two  of 
the  crew  carrying  his  chest  between  them.  He 
would  not  turn  his  head  for  a  last  look  at  the  G.  G. 
Goodridge;  and  he  took  lodgings  overnight  on  a 
street  away  from  the  water-front,  that  his  eyes  might 
not  fall  upon  her  again.  Next  day  he  went  by  train 
down  the  coast  to  Gibraltar,  to  seek  an  English  ship 
on  which  to  work  his  way  to  London.  He  left  Bar- 
celona Jim  Calder.  When  he  reached  Gibraltar  he 
was  Jim  Callahan.  When  he  wrote  to  his  mother, 
and  told  her  what  he  had  done,  he  gave  no  explana- 


178  The  Heart  That  Knows 

tion  whatever.  But  he  said  she  was  not  to  tell  a 
living  soul,  nor  talk  of  his  affairs  in  Westcock ;  and 
he  knew  well  that  no  force  and  no  persuasion  would 
ever  drag  his  barren  secret  past  her  teeth. 

For  a  week  Jim  wandered  aimlessly  about  the 
City  of  the  Rock,  so  sunk  in  his  own  darkness  that 
he  saw  nothing  of  the  interest  and  the  wonder  of  the 
place.  Then,  saying  nothing  of  his  mate's  certificate 
because  he  had  changed  his  name,  he  shipped  before 
the  mast  on  a  homeward  bound  Bristol  brig.  From 
Bristol  he  went  as  passenger  on  a  channel  sloop 
around  to  London,  and  had  not  been  about  the  docks 
of  the  East  India  Company  three  days  before  he 
had  signed  for  the  voyage  to  Singapore.  The  ship 
was  a  brand-new  one,  full-rigged  and  of  twice  the 
tonnage  of  the  G.  G.  Goodridge.  She  carried  under 
her  bowsprit  a  richly  gilded,  billowy-breasted  figure 
of  a  woman,  and  was  named  the  Belle  Eliza. 

The  crew  of  the  Belle  Eliza  was  made  up  of 
Swedes,  Finns,  and  Lascars,  with  only  four  British; 
and  Jim  found  the  isolation  which  he  craved. 
Throughout  the  voyage,  which  was  uneventful,  he 
made  no  friends.  At  Singapore  the  Belle  Eliza  got 
a  charter  for  Sidney,  New  South  Wales,  and  as 
this  was  going  still  farther  away  from  home,  Jim 
signed  again  with  her.  By  this  time  the  East  was 
getting  into  his  veins,  and  beginning  to  drug  his 
memory.  From  Sidney  his  ship  went  to  Shanghai, 


The  Spell  of  the  East  179 

and  thence  back  to  Singapore.  The  waters  of 
Fundy  sank  back  into  the  realm  of  dark  and  bitter 
dream.  The  pale  green  marshes,  the  fir-clad  up- 
lands, the  yellow  flats,  and  winding  channels  of  Tan- 
tramar,  all  were  resolutely  and  vigilantly  forgotten. 
With  stern  lines  about  his  mouth,  —  yet  lines  which 
softened  into  something  of  the  old  sunny  cheer 
when  he  smiled,  —  Jim  took  grip  again  upon  life. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
AT  MRS.  BEM  BRIDGE'S 

MRS.  BEMBRIDGE'S  bleak  gray  house  in  the  fields 
began  to  grow  more  gracious-looking  soon  after 
Luella  came  to  it.  Mrs.  Bembridge  herself,  owning 
as  she  did  a  bit  of  "  marsh  "  which  could  be  de- 
pended on  to  cut  three  tons  of  prime  hay  to  the 
acre,  was  not  destitute.  Luella  was,  pecuniarily, 
what  the  country  folk  called  "  pretty  well-fixed." 
There  was  comfort,  therefore,  in  the  lone  gray 
house ;  and  Luella  saw  to  it  that,  little  by  little,  and 
with  no  violence  of  innovation,  there  should  be 
some  simple  beauty,  also.  Her  time  and  energy 
were  largely  absorbed  by  her  baby;  but  in  the 
spring,  as  soon  as  the  frost  was  out  of  the  ground, 
she  managed  to  get  some  lilacs,  snowballs,  and 
roses  set  out  around  the  house,  with  half  a  dozen 
young  apple-trees  at  the  south  end,  along  the  edge 
of  the  buckwheat-field.  Then  she  started  a  garden 
that  should  in  time  come  to  surpass  the  old  one 
overhanging  the  "  Bito."  Between  the  garden  and 
the  baby,  who  was  rather  a  busy  baby  for  his 

1 80 


At  Mrs.  Bembridge's  181 

months,  she  found  herself  so  occupied  that  there 
was  little  time  for  repining,  and  the  delicate  colour 
by  and  by  crept  back  to  her  pale  cheeks.  She  went 
nowhere  except  to  church,  to  the  parsonage,  or 
berry-picking  down  in  the  "back  lot;"  and  there- 
fore the  prim-lipped  would-be  aloofness  of  the 
Westcock  ladies  hardly  touched  her.  By  tempera- 
ment self-contained  and  inhospitable  to  gossip,  she 
escaped  a  million  petty  stings.  Mrs.  Bembridge 
strove  all  the  time  to  enclose  her  in  such  an  atmos- 
phere of  love  as  might  gradually  heal  her  grief. 
By  the  path  through  the  fir-pasture  came  the  rector 
frequently  to  see  her,  and  Mrs.  Goodridge  to  bring 
some  trifle  of  baby  adornment  for  little  Seth.  The 
baby,  always  under  Mrs.  Bembridge's  initiated  eye, 
throve  to  a  marvel.  So  it  came  about  that  Luella's 
first  summer  in  the  new  life  passed  in  a  peace  that 
gave  her  time  to  gather  her  strength.  The  sleep- 
less, bitter  hour  just  after  dawn  would  darken  her 
face  with  shame  and  loss;  but  before  the  morning 
was  through  the  shadow  would  be  almost  gone, 
chased  away  by  the  little  tender  offices  of  mother- 
hood. The  dark-haired,  sturdy  boy  that  smiled  at 
her  breast  was  her  heart's  unmatched  physician. 

But  there  was  another  influence  which  contrib- 
uted to  Luella's  mastery  of  her  sorrow.  For 
months  she  had  clung  to  a  feeble  hope  that  her 
letter  to  Jim  at  Montevideo  would  elicit  a  response. 


1 82          The  Heart  That  Knows 

All  her  love,  her  faith,  her  loyalty,  her  amazement, 
her  longing,  her  terror,  and  her  grief  had  gone 
into  that  letter.  She  could  not  believe  that  it  would 
leave  him  untouched.  Throughout  the  tender  Tan- 
tramar  spring  she  kept  half-expecting  a  reply. 
Then,  at  last,  the  frail  hope  faded.  A  scornful  in- 
dignation began  to  take  its  place.  One  hot,  hay- 
scented  July  morning,  toward  noon,  when  Mrs. 
Bembridge,  still  in  her  magenta  sontag,  came  limp- 
ing hurriedly  home  to^get  dinner,  Luella  saw  in  her 
eyes  the  glint  of  news.  She  paled,  and  her  heart 
quivered  sickly. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked,  snatching  up  the  baby 
from  his  cradle,  and  holding  him  to  her  heart  as 
a  shelter. 

"  I've  jest  been  down  to  the  post-office !  "  an- 
swered Mrs.  Bembridge. 

"  You  —  haven't  got  —  a  letter  for  me?  "  stam- 
mered Luella,  catching  her  breath. 

"  No  —  no  —  no  —  Sweetie.  Nothin'  f er  you ! 
No,  indeed !  "  replied  the  old  woman.  "  But  Mr. 
Smith  tells  me  as  how  there  was  a  letter  come  yis- 
tidy  for  Mrs.  Calder,  an'  it  had  on  it  the  Monte- 
video stamp.  So  —  ye  see  jest  how  'tis,  Sweetie. 
'Taint  fer  any  girl  as  keers  fer  her  own  self-re- 
spect to  let  herself  go  on  frettin'  fer  a  man  like 
that,  sez  I." 

Luella  had  put  the  baby  down  again  into  his 


At  Mrs.   Bembridge's  183 

cradle,  where  he  lay  soberly  sucking  his  thumb. 
Now  she  stood  up  very  straight.  Her  face  red- 
dened slowly  and  darkly,  and  a  hot  light  came  into 
her  eyes.  She  walked  up  and  down  the  room  sev- 
eral times,  clenching  her  strong,  slim  hands  fiercely. 
Then  she  stopped  short,  and  faced  about.  Mrs. 
Bembridge  waited,  expecting  the  wild  outbreak 
which  was  struggling  behind  those  hard-set  lips. 
But  it  never  broke  through.  Luella  glanced  down 
at  the  baby.  Then  she  went  aimlessly  across  the 
room,  and  sat  down  by  the  window,  as  if  tired  by 
the  storm  which  had  raged  unheard  within  her.  At 
last,  very  quietly,  she  said: 

"I  won't.    He  ain't  worth  it !" 

For  half  an  hour  she  sat  perfectly  still,  while 
Mrs.  Bembridge  was  getting  the  dinner.  She  went 
over  and  over  in  her  aching  memory  the  devotion 
and  the  passionate  outpourings  of  her  unanswered 
letter,  and  the  fiery  humiliation  which  raged  within 
her  proved  to  be  a  bitter  but  wholesome  medicine. 
From  that  day  she  taught  herself  to  smile  more  fre- 
quently, and  to  make  herself  less  of  a  kill- joy  in 
the  house. 

With  no  great  events  to  arrest  it,  time  at  the 
gray  cottage  slipped  by  with  a  soundless  speed  that 
was  almost  startling  to  Luella.  Each  day  was  long 
enough,  each  night  too  long;  but,  being  all  of  so 
like  a  complexion,  the  sequence  of  them  speedily 


184  The  Heart  That  Knows 

ran  into  one,  and  a  month  seemed  the  same  as  a 
week.  The  day's  unchanging  routine  was  enough 
to  keep  brain  and  hand  occupied.  The  seasons  stole 
softly  upon  one  another's  heels.  Little  Seth's  first 
tooth,  his  first  creeping  (which  was  in  pursuit  of 
the  unsympathetic  cat),  his  first  unaided  step  on  his 
own  strong  baby  feet,  —  these  were  huge  events 
in  this  secluded  life.  And  as  for  small  events,  they 
were  numerous  enough  to  keep  the  air  from  stag- 
nating. These  were  of  various  kinds.  Visits  from 
the  rector,  or  Mrs.  Goodridge,  or  Mary  Dugan,  or 
good-natured  Mitty  Smith ;  the  hatching  of  a  brood 
of  chickens ;  the  coming  up  of  the  seeds  in  hotbed 
or  garden;  the  first  sailing  of  the  shad-boats  from 
the  mouth  of  the  far-off  creek ;  the  first  ripe  straw- 
berry; the  harvesting  of  the  golden  oats  in  the 
upper  field;  the  fall  assembling  of  the  swallows; 
the  first  small  white  egg,  usually  blood-streaked,  of 
the  most  precocious  of  Mrs.  Bembridge's  blue  pul- 
lets; the  high  and  hollow  honking  of  the  first 
southward  flight  of  the  wild  geese;  the  sudden 
whiteness  of  the  first  snow.  With  these  the  days 
made  themselves  different;  yet  not  so  different 
but  that  Luella  was  seized  with  a  kind  of  trembling 
amazement  one  lilac-scented  evening  in  June,  when 
some  mingling  of  scent,  and  far-off  sound,  and  sun- 
set colour,  reminded  her  that  it  was  now  five  years 
since  Jim  had  gone  away.  Since  that  day  she  had 


At  Mrs.  Bembridge's  185 

never  been  down  to  the  dyke  beside  the  Creek 
mouth;  but  now,  putting  a  white  sunbonnet  over 
her  heavy,  flax-blond  hair,  she  set  off  without  a 
word  to  Mrs.  Bembridge,  and  hastened  down  across 
the  marshes  through  the  dying  sunset.  Out  by 
Tantramar,  in  the  great  spaces,  nothing  had 
changed.  There  loomed  the  gaunt  net-reels,  across 
the  mouth  of  the  creek.  The  same  sparse  grasses 
flickered  along  the  dyke-top.  The  tide  was  ebbing, 
with  its  lonely,  sighing  roar.  Only  there  was  not, 
to-night,  that  long  wind  drumming  in  her  ears. 
That  wind,  how  strangely  she  remembered  it,  and 
the  confusion  of  it  in  her  brain.  To-night  the  air 
was  still,  and  her  memory  clear  as  glass.  Could  it 
be  five  years?  Her  long  control  melted  in  an  an- 
guish of  self-pity,  of  pity  for  Jim,  of  longing  for 
the  love  so  inexplicably  slain.  Once  more  she  threw 
herself  face  downward  in  the  grass  beside  the  road; 
and  when,  hours  later,  she  went  home  to  the  gray 
house  in  the  fields,  Mrs.  Bembridge  looked  at  her 
heavy  eyes  and  troubled  her  with  no  questions. 
Luella  sank  down  upon  her  bed  without  undress- 
ing, buried  her  face  in  little  Seth's  thick  brown 
curls,  and  cried  there  softly,  so  softly  that  the  child 
was  not  disturbed.  When  she  had  cried  herself  to 
sleep,  the  old  woman  stole  in  and  lightly  spread 
a  shawl  over  her.  And  so  she  slept  till  morning, 


1 86  The  Heart  That  Knows 

when  Seth,  according  to  his  wont,  awoke  with  the 
birds. 

The  following  day  Mrs.  Bembridge  came  limping 
in  hurriedly  with  news.  The  G.  G.  Goodridge  was 
in  the  lower  bay,  and  would  be  up  with  the  next 
tide. 

Luella  turned  pale,  but  showed  no  excitement. 
She  had  nothing  to  hope  from  the  return  of  the 
G.  G.  Goodridge.  All  Westcock  knew  that  Jim 
Calder  had  left  the  ship  at  the  time  of  Melissa 
Britton's  death,  and  betaken  himself  no  one  knew 
whither.  All  that  could  be  said  of  him  was  that 
once  or  twice  a  year  a  letter  with  strange,  outland- 
ish postmarks,  and  stamps  of  the  other  side  of  the 
world,  would  come  to  Mrs.  Calder.  But  what  was 
in  them  Mrs.  Calder  would  not  say. 

For  some  minutes  after  Mrs.  Bembridge  had 
made  her  announcement  there  was  silence  in  the 
room,  broken  only  by  the  loud  ticking  of  the  clock, 
and  the  voice  of  little  Seth  playing  and  talking  to 
himself  out  in  the  yard.  The  old  woman  stood  it 
as  long  as  she  could.  Then,  giving  her  cap  a  twist 
that  made  her  short  gray  wisps  of  hair  stick  out 
excitedly,  she  followed  up  the  subject. 

"  It's  five  year  now  since  Job  Britton's  sot  eyes 
on  his  own  home,  an'  more'n  four  since  Melissy 
was  killed.  That  girl  was  the  apple  of  his  eyes,  — • 
everybody  knowed  that.  An'  Miss  Tingley  sez, 


At  Mrs.  Bembridge's  187 

sez  she,  as  how  the  captain  ain't  never  been  able  to 
face  the  idee  of  comin'  home  an'  not  findin'  Melissy 
there  to  welcome  him.  One  must  respect  feelin's 
like  that,  o'  course.  But  now,  after  all  these  year, 
seems  to  me  like  somebody  might  speak  to  him,  — 
somebody'd  oughter  speak  to  him,  —  an'  find  out 
if  he  knows  anythin'." 

Here  she  paused,  looking  at  Luella  expectantly. 
But  still  Luella  had  nothing  to  say. 

"  Seems  to  me,"  went  on  the  old  woman,  "  like 
as  how  the  rector  might  speak  to  him,  bein'  an  old 
friend  of  hisn,  an'  so  specially  interested  in  the 
ship,  an'  in  you,  Sweetie,  —  an'  in  Jim !  " 

At  the  mention  of  Jim's  name,  which  had  not 
been  spoken  between  them  once  since  the  birth  of 
little  Seth,  Luella  began  to  tremble.  She  turned 
red,  then  white  again,  laid  down  her  sewing,  got 
up,  and  went  out  in  the  yard  to  speak  to  the  child. 
When  she  returned,  two  or  three  minutes  later,  she 
had  regained  her  composure. 

"  I'll  go  and  see  Captain  Britton  myself,"  said 
she,  "  the  minute  he  gets  home.  If  he  knows  any- 
thing I  know  he'll  tell  me."  Then  she  took  down 
her  sunbonnet  from  its  peg. 

"  That's  right,  Sweetie ! "  answered  the  old 
woman  with  warm  approval.  "  But  where  be  you 
a-goin'  to  now?  Captain  Job  can't  be  to  his  house 
afore  to-morrow  forenoon,  nohow ! " 


1 88  The  Heart  That  Knows 

"  I'm  going  over  to  the  parsonage,"  said  Luella, 
"  to  ask  Mr.  Goodridge  to  find  out  for  me,  an'  let 
me  know,  the  minute  I  can  see  the  captain.  Oh, 
you  don't  know,  Granny,  what  it  is  to  just  think 
of  doing  something,  anything,  after  all  these  years 
when  there  was  nothing  one  could  do!  I  know 
it's  no  use,  no  earthly  use,  —  but  it's  wonderful 
just  to  be  able  to  try!"  And  she  hurried  out 
eagerly,  while  the  old  woman  looked  after  her  with 
wet  eyes. 

During  the  long  five  years  since  she  left  her 
Uncle  Abner's  house,  Luella  had  not  once  been 
down  to  the  "  Bito."  All  her  little  shopping  had 
been  done  for  her  in  Sackville,  by  Mrs.  Goodridge, 
or  at  the  little  Wood  Point  store  by  Mrs.  Bern- 
bridge,  who  had  scornfully  withdrawn  her  custom 
from  Abner  Baisley.  Luella  had  been  regular,  as 
of  old,  in  her  attendance  at  the  little  Westcock 
church,  but  she  managed,  in  an  unobtrusive  way, 
to  avoid  exposing  herself  to  snubs.  She  had  left 
the  choir  at  the  first  of  the  trouble;  and  gentle 
old  Miss  Evans,  at  the  secret  suggestion  of  Mrs. 
Goodridge,  had  offered  her  a  seat  in  her  pew, 
which  was  close  up  to  the  front,  immediately  behind 
the  parsonage  pew.  By  always  staying  in  after 
service,  in  order  to  walk  home  with  Mrs.  Good- 
ridge over  Westcock  hill,  Luella  avoided  meeting 
those  who  were  unwilling  to  meet  her.  Those 


At  Mrs.  Bembridge's  189 

others  who  stayed  had  to  meet  her  under  Mrs. 
Goodridge's  challenging  eyes,  or  in  the  shelter  of 
the  rector's  loving-kindness.  They  were  civil 
enough,  therefore;  and  Luella  took  care  not  to 
test  their  civility  too  severely.  Once,  on  her  way 
to  church,  Mrs.  Ben  Ackerley  had  met  her,  and 
passed  her  with  a  snort  of  lofty  scorn;  and  once, 
Mrs.  Finnimore,  jogging  along  in  her  rattle-trap 
of  a  wagon,  had  stopped  with  an  air  of  infinite  con- 
descension, and  inquired  after  the  health  of  little 
Seth.  Her  manner  was  trying,  but  Luella  re- 
sponded pleasantly,  which  encouraged  the  good 
lady  to  prolong  the  interview. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  Luelly  Warden,"  she  said, 
bending  down  with  fat  importance  from  the  high 
seat  of  the  unwashed  old  wagon,  "  let  me  tell  you, 
you've  got  a  friend  as  is  a  friend,  in  Mrs.  Good- 
ridge.  You  can't  never  know  how  faithful  she 
sticks  up  for  you,  amongst  them  of  the  parish  as 
is  inclined  to  be  censorious.  That  counts  more  for 
you,  I  kin  tell  you,  than  all  the  rector  sez  an'  does 
for  you,  because  everybody  knows  he'd  stand  by 
you,  anyways,  he's  that  kind-hearted,  an'  never  so 
happy  as  when  he's  tryin'  to  help  them  as  has 
fallen." 

At  this  Luella,  her  face  aflame,  turned  away 
abruptly. 

"  Well,   I  never !     Such  impudence,  the  hussy ! 


190  The  Heart  That  Knows 

After  me  takin'  the  trouble  to  stop  an'  speak 
to  her ! "  muttered  Mrs.  Finnimore,  indignantly, 
twisting  around  in  her  seat  to  glare  after  Luella's 
tall  retreating  form.  Then,  with  a  succulent  tzlk- 
tzlk  and  a  slap  of  the  reins,  she  started  up  her  old 
sorrel  again,  and  jogged  on  to  tell  her  gossips  of 
Luella's  insolent  impenitence. 

"  It's  spiled  she  is,  the  hussy !  "  was  her  ultimate 
verdict.  "  The  dear  soft-hearted  rector,  an'  Mrs. 
Goodridge,  who  jest  does  it  to  spite  the  rest  of  us, 
has  cleaned  spiled  her,  till  she  thinks  she's  a  white- 
souled  martyr,  the  impudent  hussy !  " 

It  was  the  possibility  of  such  interviews  as  this, 
rather  than  the  dread  of  frank  hostility  like  Mrs. 
Ackerley's,  that  led  Luella  to  guard  her  seclusion. 
She  had  no  need  of  going  down  to  the  "  Bito." 
And  for  her  outings  she  had  all  the  room  she 
wanted,  in  the  woods,  the  flowering  pastures,  and 
the  sun-steeped  scented  berry-fields. 

With  the  news  of  the  return  of  the  G.  G.  Good- 
ridge,  however,  a  change  came  over  Luella's  atti- 
tude. It  occurred  to  her  that  her  strict  seclusion 
had  seemed  like  an  acknowledgment  of  guilt.  It 
was  a  wrong  to  little  Seth,  —  and  at  the  thought 
of  the  possible  implications  she  grew  hot  all  over, 
and  suddenly  sick.  What  right  had  she  to  shelter 
herself  at  the  cost  of  imputations  upon  her  baby. 


At  Mrs.  Bembridge's  191 

Passionately  she  pledged  herself  to  be  more  brave 
in  the  future,  for  the  boy's  sake. 

By  the  time  she  had  come  to  this  resolution  she 
had  reached  the  parsonage  yard.  Mary  Dugan,  in 
a  bright  pink  calico  dress  pinned  up  half-way  to  her 
stout  knees,  was  at  the  well,  about  to  lower  the 
bucket.  She  dropped  the  well-crank,  and  came 
forward  smiling  to  greet  the  visitor. 

"  Land  sakes,  Luelly,"  she  cried,  heartily,  "  but 
you're  lookin'  spry  an'  fine.  I  never  seen  you  with 
a  finer  colour,  —  an'  your  eyes  is  bright  as  two 
chancy  buttons." 

"  I  guess  you're  flatterin'  me,  Mary,"  answered 
Luella,  laughing  excitedly.  "  Is  the  rector  in  ?  Or 
Mrs.  Goodridge  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Goodridge,  she's  gone  up  Sackville,  an' 
won't  be  back  afore  tea-time,"  answered  Mary 
Dugan.  "  But  you'll  find  Mr.  Goodridge  in  the 
study." 

Luella  started  eagerly  for  the  kitchen  door. 

"  But  what's  the  hurry?  "  demanded  Mary,  who 
had  been  working  all  the  morning,  and  now  ached 
for  a  bit  of  a  gossip.  "  He  ain't  goin'  to  run  away. 
I  hain't  set  eyes  on  you  for  a  week.  Hain't  you 
got  time  to  stop  an'  tell  me  the  news?  How's 
Seth?" 

Luella  was  already  at  the  door-step,  but  she 
paused  reluctantly. 


192  The  Heart  That  Knows 

"  How  would  /  have  news  to  tell,  Mary  ?  And 
I  can't  stop,  anyways.  The  G.  G.  Goodridge  is  in 
the  lower  bay,  —  an'  she's  comin'  up  to-night,  — 
an'  I've  got  to  see  the  rector  right  off." 

As  the  last  words  left  her  lips  she  vanished  into 
the  house.  Mary  Dugan  gazed  after  her,  shaking 
her  head. 

"  I'd  like  to  know  if  that  ain't  news,"  she  mut- 
tered to  herself.  "  Biggest  kind  o'  news,  I'd  call 
it.  Poor  Luelly!  Wonder  if  she  thinks  Jim 
Calder'll  be  aboard!" 

Luella,  meanwhile,  was  speeding  in  through  the 
outer  kitchen  and  the  inner  kitchen,  to  the  narrow, 
dark  hall,  at  the  further  end  of  which,  just  beyond 
the  big  hall  stove,  she  could  see  the  rector's  study 
door  half-open. 

Mr.  Goodridge,  in  a  black  alpaca  house-coat 
which  sat  awkwardly  on  his  powerful  shoulders, 
was  writing  at  his  much  littered  study-table,  with  a 
range  of  pigeon-holes  and  piles  of  books  before 
him.  At  Luella's  light  tap  on  the  door,  his  strong 
soft  voice  responded  absent-mindedly,  "  Come  in." 
Not  till  the  girl  stood  close  beside  his  table  did  he 
look  up.  Instantly  his  eyes  brightened,  with  sunny 
little  wrinkles  gathering  about  them.  He  dropped 
his  pen,  whirled  his  chair  half-around,  and  held 
out  his  hand  without  getting  up.  He  regarded  Lu- 
ella less  as  a  guest  than  as  a  child  of  the  house. 


At  Mrs.   Bembridge's  193 

"  Hello,  Luella,  where  did  you  spring  from,  so 
noiselessly?  How  did  you  know  you  wouldn't 
scare  me  out  of  my  wits  ?  " 

Luella  laughed,  and  grasped  his  hand.  It  was 
a  hand  whose  clasp  —  strong,  warm,  straightfor- 
ward, and  tender  —  ever  heightened  the  devotion 
of  his  friends,  and  disarmed  the  hostility  of  his 
few  enemies.  The  sick,  in  body  or  in  spirit,  clung 
to  it.  The  well  rejoiced  in  it.  And  no  one  who 
once  knew  it  could  withhold  from  its  possessor  the 
utmost  of  faith  and  trust. 

"  I  just  wanted  to  ask  you  something,  Mr.  Good- 
ridge,"  said  Luella,  hesitating  as  to  how  she  should 
tell  her  errand. 

"Ask  away,  child!  Anything  the  matter?"  re- 
sponded the  rector,  brushing  away  the  thick  brown 
moustache  and  beard  from  his  mouth  with  a  char- 
acteristic gesture. 

"  The  G.  G.  Goodridge  has  come  back.  She's  in 
the  bay,"  said  Luella. 

"  You  don't  say  so ! "  exclaimed  the  rector, 
jumping  up  as  if  he  would  go  aboard  at  once. 
Then  he  bethought  him,  and  sat  down  again. 

"When  did  she  arrive?"    he  asked. 

"  She  ain't  in  yet,  sir !  "  answered  Luella,  in  her 
excitement  dropping  back  into  the  vernacular. 
"  She's  in  the  lower  bay,  —  an'  comin'  up  with  nex' 
tide." 


194  The  Heart  That  Knows 

The  rector  had  been  thinking  as  she  spoke,  and 
biting  thoughtfuly  at  one  end  of  his  moustache,  as 
was  his  way  in  any  uncertainty  of  mind.  What 
did  Luella  think  that  the  return  of  the  Goodridge 
could  signify  to  her?  He  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

"  There's  Captain  Britton,  you  know,  sir,"  said 
Luella,  answering  the  inquiry  of  his  eyes.  "  And 
there's  Ezra  Boltenhouse.  One  or  the  other  of 
them  might  know  something,  might  say  something, 
that  would  —  that  would  help  me  to  understand." 

The  rector  had  a  swift  vision  of  Luella's  years  of 
waiting  without  a  word,  of  her  long  sorrow  and 
humiliation,  of  her  quiet,  enduring  patience,  —  and 
his  quick  sympathy  brought  a  lump  into  his  throat. 
He  took  the  girl's  hand  again,  into  both  of  his,  and 
said,  gently :  "  Yes,  dear  child,  of  course.  They 
might  be  able  to  tell  us  something.  I  promise  you 
I'll  see  them  both  the  moment  they  come  ashore." 
Then,  because  tears  had  come  into  his  eyes,  and  he 
did  not  want  to  encourage  Luella  to  any  outbreak 
of  emotion,  he  smiled  cheerfully,  and  added: 

"  I  must  see  my  ship,  you  know,  the  first  moment 
possible,  and  find  out  how  she  has  been  behaving 
herself.  I'll  go  aboard,  in  fact,  the  very  first  thing 
to-morrow  morning." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  sir,  so  much!"  breathed  the 
girl.  "But"  —  she  went  on  diffidently  —  "I've 
been  thinking  that  I'd  ought  to  see  them  both  my- 


At  Mrs.   Bembridge's  195 

self,  too!  There's  things  I  want  to  ask  Captain 
Britton,  specially.  Don't  you  think  I  might,  Mr. 
Goodridge  ?  " 

"  Assuredly!  "  he  agreed.  "  It's  your  right,  Lu- 
ella,  to  make  every  kind  of  inquiry.  I'm  sure  Cap- 
tain Britton  would  feel  so." 

"  Then,  oh,  please,  sir,  won't  you  find  out  the 
first  minute  he'll  be  home,  and  will  see  me.  That's 
what  I  came  to  ask  you.  Captain  Britton  was  al- 
ways kind  of  friendly  to  me,  —  he  knew  my  father 
well,  —  and  I  don't  believe  he'll  mind  me  bothering 
him.  And  I  can  see  Ezra  later." 

"  Yes,  I'll  see  to  it  for  you,  Luella,"  replied  the 
rector,  still  musingly  biting  his  moustache.  "  I'll 
send  you  word  by  Mary  Dugan,  as  soon  as  I  have 
seen  the  captain.  But  don't  build  too  much  on  this, 
child ! "  he  added,  taking  note  of  her  unwonted 
colour  and  air  of  suppressed  excitement. 

"  No,  sir,  I'm  not  expecting  anything,"  said  she. 
"  But  I'm  doing  something ;  and  so  I  can  kind  of 
pretend  I'm  expecting  something." 

When  Luella  had  left  the  rector  to  continue,  amid 
the  seeming  confusion  of  his  papers,  his  interrupted 
writing,  she  went  out  by  the  front  door,  to  avoid 
the  delay  of  further  talk  with  Mary  Dugan.  She 
did  not  turn  back  through  the  yard,  to  seek  the 
homeward  path  through  the  fir-pasture,  but  con- 
tinued straight  on,  beneath  the  great  hackmatack, 


196  The  Heart  That  Knows 

down  the  drive  to  the  white  gate,  and  down  the  hill 
to  the  Wood  Point  road.  Here,  for  an  irresolute 
moment,  she  paused.  Her  impulse  was  to  turn  to 
the  right,  homeward,  to  the  gray  house  in  the  fields, 
where  security  and  little  Seth  awaited  her.  Then 
her  face  flushed  with  a  daring  resolve.  She  turned 
to  the  left,  along  the  road  past  the  black  spruce 
groves,  —  the  road  that  led  to  the  "  Bito." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

DOWN    TO   THE    "  BITO  " 

LUELLA  had  no  definite,  concrete  aim  in  view, 
when  she  set  out  for  the  "  Bito."  Her  going  was 
simply  a  sort  of  decree  of  emancipation,  issued  by 
herself  to  herself.  She  did  not  care  much  —  in 
fact,  at  the  time,  she  considered  not  at  all  —  what 
other  people  might  think  of  it.  She  was  concerned 
only  to  register  her  resolve,  and  to  do  it  with  some 
unmistakable  emphasis. 

As  she  passed  down  Lawrence's  Hill,  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  had  been  absent  half  a  lifetime  from 
these  old  familiar  scenes,  —  yet  it  had  meant  but 
the  turning  of  a  corner  to  look  upon  them  again. 
It  was  with  a  homesick  pang  she  noticed  how  the 
young  firs  on  the  hillside  had  grown  to  goodly 
trees.  Where  she  had  formerly  looked  out  over 
their  tops  to  the  red  windings  of  Tantramar  in  his 
green  levels,  now  patches  of  dense  wood  walled  off 
the  view.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  to  the  left  a  com- 
pany of  ancient  white  birches  had  been  cut  down, 

197 


198  The  Heart  That  Knows 

leaving  a  raw  scar  on  the  landscape.  She  felt  their 
destruction  like  a  loss,  and  hurried  on  with  face 
averted. 

When  she  came  opposite  Purdy's  shipyard  she 
forced  herself  to  stop  and  look,  —  to  go  up  deliber- 
ately, and  lean  upon  the  old  snake  fence  and  look. 
There  was  a  ship  on  the  stocks  now,  a  high,  black 
ship  nearly  ready  for  the  launching.  It  looked  to 
her  just  like  the  G.  G.  Goodridge.  And  though 
she  had  felt  quite  secure  in  her  self-control,  she 
now  began  to  shake  so  violently  that  —  after  glanc- 
ing around  to  see  that  no  one  was  in  sight  —  she 
sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  road  to  recover  her 
calm. 

Hitherto,  to  her  great  relief,  she  had  met  no  one 
on  the  road.  Now,  however,  just  when  she  felt 
least  ready  for  an  encounter,  she  saw  a  fluttering 
red  and  white  figure  in  the  distance,  coming  from 
the  direction  of  the  "  Bito."  She  sprang  to  her 
feet  and  continued  her  journey.  The  chances  were 
that  anything  in  petticoats  was  a  foe;  and  she 
would  meet  her  standing  up. 

The  red  and  white  figure,  however,  presently 
proved  to  be  that  of  a  little  barefoot  girl  in  a  short 
red  frock,  swinging  her  white  sunbonnet  by  the 
strings.  When  she  came  nearer,  Luella  recognized 
her  by  the  big,  round  black  eyes  and  gipsy-dark 
skin  as  little  Sadie  Babcock,  from  just  across  the 


Down  to  the  "  Bito"  199 

"  Bito."  Luella  had  often  admired  her,  in  the  days 
gone  by,  and  given  her  flowers  from  the  garden 
over  the  "Bito;"  and  now,  at  ten  years  old,  the 
child's  wild  beauty  was  more  piquant  and  insistent 
than  ever.  Luella's  heart  warmed  to  her.  It  was 
such  a  relief,  moreover,  to  meet  a  child  like  this, 
toward  whom  she  need  not  stand  on  guard. 

"  Why,  hello,  Sadie !  "  she  cried,  joyously,  ad- 
vancing with  a  bright  smile,  and  both  hands  out- 
stretched. "  My  goodness  sakes  alive,  how  you've 
grown !  " 

But  to  this  cordial  greeting  the  child  made  no 
response.  Her  round  black  eyes  fixed  blankly  on 
Luella's  face,  she  stuck  a  string  of  her  sunbonnet 
into  her  red  little  mouth,  and  sheered  off  to  one  side 
of  the  road. 

"Why,  Sadie,  don't  you  know  me?"  continued 
Luella,  gaily,  still  advancing.  "  Don't  you  remem- 
ber Luella,  that  used  to  give  you  flowers  ?  " 

The  child  knew  her  very  well,  this  tall,  fair- 
skinned,  blue-eyed  young  woman,  with  the  heavy, 
flax-blond  hair.  She  remembered  her  flowers. 
She  thought  of  the  way  she  was  pointed  out  to  her 
in  church.  She  remembered  the  things  that  were 
said  of  her  by  the  pious  backbiters  who  came  in 
to  drink  tea  with  Mrs.  Babcock.  She  swerved 
right  up  upon  the  hillocky  side  of  the  road,  by  the 


2OO  The  Heart  That  Knows 

fence,  to  give  as  wide  a  berth  as  possible  to  this 
enticing  monster. 

"  Ma  sez,  I  mustn't  speak  to  the  likes  o'  you ! " 
she  announced,  bluntly,  with  no  change  in  the  blank 
stare  of  her  black  eyes.  Then  she  darted  past,  and 
went  on  loiteringly,  chewing  her  sunbonnet  string 
and  looking  back. 

Luella  stopped  as  if  she  had  been  struck  in  the 
face.  The  sunny  fields,  and  the  bright,  dry  ribbon 
of  road,  reeled  about  her  for  a  moment.  The  in- 
sult, coming  from  an  innocent  child,  overwhelmed 
her.  She  had  no  thought  of  anger,  but  only  crush- 
ing pain  and  humiliation.  With  her  head  down 
she  walked  onwards.  And  presently  the  idea  came 
to  her  of  what  was  in  store  for  her  boy  when,  two 
or  three  years  later,  he  should  begin  school.  She 
had  not  realized  that  her  unhappiness  had  become 
a  byword  among  the  Westcock  children.  Thinking 
of  Seth  and  what  he  would  be  made  to  suffer,  she 
forgot  herself  and  grew  strong  again.  For  Seth's 
sake  she  would  face  everybody,  and  face  them  down 
if  necessary,  and  take  the  place  that  was  her  due 
among  others  who  had  taken  just  as  much  liberty 
with  conventions  as  she  had.  In  her  own  eyes, 
and,  as  she  truly  believed,  in  the  eyes  of  Heaven, 
also,  she  was  Jim  Calder's  wife.  And  she  would 
no  longer  seem,  by  shamefaced  seclusion,  to  con- 
fess herself  merely  his  cast-off  mistress.  Her  ex- 


Down  to  the  "  Bito  "  2OI 

pedition  to  the  "  Bito  "  had  ceased  to  be  either  a 
daring  adventure  or  a  declaration  of  rights.  It 
had  taken  on  something  of  a  consecration.  It  was 
the  beginning  of  a  struggle  for  the  honour  and  the 
happiness  of  little  Seth. 

Luella  was  looking  well  that  morning,  with  her 
excited  colour,  and  her  trim,  blue  and  white  ging- 
ham frock  with  spotless  white  collar  and  cuffs. 
She  remembered,  with  satisfaction,  that  she 
"  looked  all  right,"  when  she  saw  little  Mrs. 
McMinn  approaching.  She  had  not  seen  Jinnie 
McMinn,  except  at  church,  under  Mrs.  Goodridge's 
eye,  since  the  dreadful  day  of  the  sewing-circle  at 
Miss  Evans's,  five  years  ago.  On  the  church  porch 
Mrs.  McMinn  had  always  nodded  to  her,  civilly 
enough,  and  she  had  returned  the  salutation  in  like 
spirit.  But  she  wondered  how  it  would  be  now. 

Mrs.  McMinn  had  just  come  out  of  Abner  Bais- 
ley's  store,  and  had  fairly  started  up  the  road  be- 
fore she  realized  that  Luella  was  before  her.  She 
stopped  in  a  sort  of  confusion,  and  for  a  moment 
seemed  on  the  point  of  fleeing  back  to  the  store, 
which  she  imagined  would  prove  a  safe  refuge. 
Then,  with  a  slight  heightening  of  her  colour,  she 
came  on,  and  met  Luella's  eyes  with  a  pleasant 
smile. 

"How  are  you  this  mornin',  Luella?"  she  in- 
quired, politely,  holding  out  her  hand.  As  it  was 


2O2  The  Heart  That  Knows 

done  in  a  public  place,  almost  in  front  of  the  store, 
and  with  the  windows  of  three  cottages  inquisitively 
agape,  Luella  appreciated  the  little  matron's  cour- 
age, and  responded  cordially. 

"  I'm  well,   thank  you,  Jinnie,"   she  answered. 

Mrs.  McMinn  was  at  heart  a  kindly  and  honest 
little  woman;  and  now,  under  the  spell  of  Luella's 
clear  eyes,  grave  with  suffering,  she  yielded  to  a 
sudden  womanly  impulse. 

"  Luella,"  she  said,  reddening  deeply,  "  I  was 
thinkin'  in  church,  only  last  Sunday,  when  Mr. 
Goodridge  was  preachin'  about  how  we  deceive 
ourselves  more'n  we  deceive  other  folks,  that  I 
hadn't  been  actin'  right  by  you,  all  these  years. 
I'd  oughter  have  stood  by  you,  whoever  else  didn't. 
We  both  took  the  same  resks,  fer  the  sakes  of  the 
men  we  loved.  An'  Lord  knows,  you  never  de- 
served to  suffer,  no  more'n  me.  Sez  I  to  myself, 
'  It's  jest  luck,  I'm  not  in  her  place  now ! '  I've 
been  jest  plain  skeered,  Luella;  an'  I  wish't  you'd 
forgive  me,  an'  let's  be  friends !  " 

Tears  came  into  Luella's  eyes.  This  was  medi- 
cine to  the  bitter  wound  which  little  Sadie  Babcock 
had  inflicted. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Jinnie,"  she  answered,  rather 
faintly,  controlling  a  foolish  impulse  to  cry.  "  I 
think  it's  fine  and  brave  of  you,  very  brave.  Be- 
cause you  know  what  Mrs.  Ackerley  will  say, 


Down  to  the  "  Bito"  203 

behind  your  back,  —  and  Mrs.  Gandy,  and  the  rest 
of  them.  Like  as  not,  Mrs.  Candy's  sayin'  it  to 
herself  about  you  right  now,  for  I  see  her  face 
glued  to  the  window  over  yonder." 

"  Let  her  look !  "  cried  Jinnie,  tossing  her  head. 
"  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  bossed  by  them  old  cats  no 
longer.  Let  her  say  what  she  likes.  An'  say,  Lu- 
ella,  can  I  come  up  presently  an'  see  little  Seth?  " 

"  I  wish  you'd  drop  in  and  see  us  this  after- 
noon!" responded  Luella,  with  a  choking  laugh 
which  saved  her  from  tears.  "  You  don't  know 
what  a  lot  of  good  you've  done  me,  Jinnie.  I  was 
feeling  pretty  bad,  when  you  came  up.  God  bless 
you  for  it,  Jinnie!  " 

"Well,  I'll  be  in  this  afternoon!"  said  Mrs. 
McMinn,  tripping  on  contentedly.  She  had  been 
feeling  ashamed  of  herself  for  some  time,  and  now 
she  had  the  rich  delight  of  feeling  proud  of  herself, 
instead.  There  was  something  about  Luella  which 
made  her  appreciation  and  her  gratitude  precious, 
whatever  the  cloud  she  was  under.  And  there 
would  be,  too,  the  approval  of  the  rector,  and  of 
Mrs.  Goodridge.  "  What  do  I  keer  fer  what  Mrs. 
Ackerley'll  say  to  my  face,  or  what  Mrs.  Gandy'll 
say  behind  my  back  ?  Tschut !  I'll  snap  my  fingers 
at  'em  all !  "  said  the  little  matron  to  herself,  toss- 
ing her  fluffy  head  and  snapping  her  small  red 
fingers  as  she  went. 


204  The  Heart  That  Knows 

Mrs.  Gandy,  staring  from  her  window  just  across 
the  field,  was  already  sufficiently  surprised  by  the 
interview  she  had  been  watching.  What  was  her 
amazement,  however,  when  she  saw  Luella  now 
march  on,  and  turn  deliberately  into  her  Uncle 
Abner's  store.  This  was  too  much.  Throwing 
dignity  to  the  winds,  she  clapped  on  her  hat,  and 
hurried  around  to  purchase  a  can  of  kerosene.  She 
had  hopes  of  being  witness  to  a  most  interesting 
interview.  For  all  her  shameless  haste,  however, 
she  was  too  late.  She  had  had  some  little  distance 
to  travel  around  by  the  road,  and  Luella  was  al- 
ready coming  out  of  the  store,  with  a  serene  coun- 
tenance, and  a  brown  paper  parcel  under  her 
arm. 

When  Luella  entered  the  store  Mr.  Baisley  was 
weighing  out  an  order  of  tea,  for  a  customer  whom 
Luella  did  not  know.  At  the  sight  of  her  the  old 
shopkeeper  was  so  startled  that  he  dropped  the 
tea  scoop  on  the  floor,  and  stood  speechless,  his 
thin,  gray  mouth  half-open. 

"  Good  morning,  Uncle  Abner !  "  said  Luella, 
civil  and  cool.  "  I  want  half  a  pound  of  your  best 
tea,  and  a  package  of  corn-starch,  and  a  crock  of 
preserved  ginger.  You  might  put  it  all  into  one 
parcel  for  me,  please,  so's  it  will  be  handier  to 
carry."  And  she  laid  a  crisp  note  on  the  counter. 

Mr.  Baisley  could  think  of  absolutely  nothing  to 


Down  to  the  "  Bito"  205 

say  in  this  most  unlooked-for  situation.  For  divers 
reasons,  but  mostly,  perhaps,  because  he  had  turned 
her  out  of  his  house,  he  felt  very  bitter  against 
Luella.  Moreover,  she  had  cost  him  all  the  par- 
sonage trade,  which  was  a  heavy  item,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  Mrs.  Bembridge's  modest  custom.  He 
thought,  now,  of  refusing  to  serve  her,  of  order- 
ing her  from  the  store,  of  rebuking,  in  scathing 
phrases,  her  effrontery  in  coming  to  him  in  this 
way.  But  her  steady  blue  eyes  were  upon  him, 
moving  him  to  discretion.  And  the  instinct  of  his 
calling  conquered.  Methodically  he  finished  doing 
up  the  package  of  tea  for  the  other  customer.  Then 
turning  to  Luella  and  speaking  with  quite  his  cus- 
tomary counter  deference,  he  said: 

"  Good  morning,  Luella.  Preserved  ginger,  did 
you  say?  Sixty-cent  size?" 

"  Yes,  please,  Uncle  Abner,"  answered  Luella, 
sweetly.  "  And  a  half-pound  of  your  best  mixed 
tea,  and  a  package  of  corn-starch.  That's  just  the 
even  dollar,  is  it  not?"  And  she  pushed  the  crisp 
bill  over  to  him. 

"  Well,"  thought  Mr.  Baisley,  as  he  tied  the  pur- 
chases into  one  neat  parcel,  "  after  all,  a  customer's 
a  customer,  —  an'  cash  is  cash."  So,  as  he  handed 
over  the  package,  he  said,  suavely :  "  You'll  find 
that  tea  good,  the  best  I've  ever  handled  at  the 
price.  I  hope  you'll  call  agin." 


206  The  Heart  That  Knows 

Luella  restrained  severely  a  hysterical  impulse 
to  shriek  with  laughter. 

"  Thank  you,  Uncle  Abner,  I  likely  will,"  she  an- 
swered, and  departed  with  a  casual  nod,  as  if  she 
were  doing  this  same  thing  every  day. 

Just  outside,  she  ran  into  Mrs.  Gandy.  Disap- 
pointed that  the  interview  had  been  so  brief,  and 
herself  so  late,  the  good  lady  pursed  her  mouth 
rather  primly  and  made  ready  to  patronize  Luella. 
But  Luella,  not  liking  her  expression,  went  by  her 
with  merely  a  bow  of  chilly  recognition.  It  was 
right,  for  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Gandy  was  a  back- 
biter and  a  hypocrite.  But  it  was  not  wise  policy, 
for  Mrs.  Gandy  had  influence  and  a  busy  tongue. 

On  her  homeward  walk  Luella  met  no  one  but 
Mr.  Sawyer,  the  Baptist  parson,  driving  at  leisurely 
pace,  in  his  battered  old  "  buggy,"  toward  Sack- 
ville.  He  smiled  kindly  upon  her,  touching  his  hat 
with  his  whip.  As  she  turned  into  the  home  lane, 
past  the  warm-smelling  tansy  bed,  she  felt  that  her 
expedition  had  been,  on  the  whole,  a  step  toward 
freedom  for  Seth. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE  RECTOR   SPEAKS   OUT 

WHEN  the  next  sunrise  came  streaming,  in  long 
rays  of  pinky  gold,  over  Minudie,  and  Beausejour, 
and  the  pale,  vapourous  levels  of  the  Tantramar 
Marsh,  there  was  the  G.  G.  Goodridge,  swinging 
at  the  old  anchorage  off  the  Ram  Pasture.  The 
winds  which,  throughout  the  summer  months,  are 
wont  to  sweep  the  green  marshes  steadily  all  day 
long,  were  not  yet  awake,  and  the  brimming  tide, 
in  bay,  and  river,  and  every  many-looped  creek, 
was  like  glass,  reflecting  the  streamers  of  light,  the 
tinted  clouds,  and  a  flock  of  crows  flying  seaward 
from  the  parsonage  groves. 

Before  the  sun  was  an  hour  high  the  wind  was 
up,  bending  the  grasses,  and  ruffling  the  smooth 
waters  to  a  tawny  yellow  tone  flecked  and  barred 
with  white  foam.  Through  this  bright  tumult  a 
boat  put  off  from  the  little  creek-mouth  where  the 
fishing  sloops  were  harboured.  It  was  driven  by 
two  strong  rowers,  —  the  rector,  with  his  black 

207 


208  The  Heart  That  Knows 

coat  thrown  aside  and  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  show- 
ing his  white,  huge-muscled  arms,  and  big  Chris 
Godine,  a  fisherman  farmer,  the  owner  of  the  boat. 

The  rector  was  in  a  hurry.  He  was  one  of  those 
men  whose  energetic  bodies  are  spurred  to  ceaseless 
activity  by  a  still  more  energetic  brain  and  imagina- 
tion. To  these  men  no  day  is  ever  quite  long 
enough  for  the  accomplishment  of  all  that  they 
plan  to  do.  One  lifetime  seems  ridiculously  in- 
adequate to  them,  for  great  as  is  their  reach,  their 
aim  is  incalculably  greater. 

With  boyish  delight  in  the  exercise  of  his 
strength  the  rector,  who  was  rowing  stroke,  surged 
upon  his  oar,  whipping  the  heavy  blade  through  the 
water  like  a  toothpick.  Chris  Godine,  though  a 
seasoned  oarsman  and  putting  the  easy  oar,  was 
fairly  tugging  his  heart  out  in  the  effort  to  hold  the 
boat's  head  up  against  him.  For  half  a  mile  he 
kept  it  up,  watching  for  some  sign  of  fatigue  in  the 
tirelessly  heaving  shoulders  before  him.  Then, 
with  a  windy  grunt,  he  yielded,  and  drew  in  his 
oar. 

"  Give  it  up,  parson ! "  he  panted,  drawing  his 
shirt-sleeve  across  his  dripping  forehead  and  letting 
the  boat  swing  round  into  the  trough.  "  I  can't 
hold  her  up  agin  that  stroke  o'  yourn.  Ye'll  have 
to  let  up  on  me  a  bit.  Even  at  stroke  you  kin  pull 
me  round." 


The  Rector  Speaks  Out  209 

"  Nonsense,  Chris !  "  exclaimed  the  rector,  glee- 
fully looking  back  over  his  shoulder.  "  Why,  I 
wasn't  pulling  very  hard.  I  was  just  beginning  to 
get  warmed  up." 

"  Well,  parson,  you  got  me  warmed  up  all  right 
enough,"  said  Chris.  "  I  reckon  ye'll  have  to  pull 
jest  about  half  what  ye're  a-pullin',  'f  we're  to  make 
a  straight  course  for  the  ship." 

"  Any  way  you  like,  Chris !  "  he  answered,  cheer- 
fully, with  a  frank  delight  in  having  forced  the 
hardened  boatman  to  cry  quits.  "  I'll  go  slow  as 
you  like.  But  you're  a  bigger  man  than  I  am, 
Chris.  You  ought  to  be  able  to  hold  me." 

The  fisherman  laughed,  with  a  sort  of  respectful 
derision.  He  knew  that  the  rector's  chief  foible- — 
if  not,  indeed,  his  only  one — was  his  boyish  pride 
in  his  remarkable  athletic  prowess.  The  rector 
could  run,  jump,  spar,  put  the  stone,  lift  weights, 
better  than  any  other  man  in  a  parish  of  strong  and 
athletic  men. 

"  You  know  well  enough,  parson,  you  kin  lick 
any  other  man  in  the  parish,  big  or  little,"  said 
Chris.  "  I  ain't  ashamed,  not  a  mite,  to  have  ye 
pull  me  round." 

"  What  nonsense !  "  protested  the  rector,  mod- 
estly, but  smiling  in  spite  of  himself.  "  But  I'll  pull 
easier,  if  you're  not  feeling  quite  up  to  the  mark 
this  morning." 


210  The  Heart  That  Knows 

When  the  rector  went  up  the  ship's  side,  he  was 
met  by  Ezra  Boltenhouse,  who  greeted  him  warmly 
and  led  him  straight  to  the  cabin,  where  Captain 
Job  was  making  up  his  papers  preparatory  to  go- 
ing ashore.  Captain  Job  looked  up  and  came  for- 
ward eagerly,  gratified  at  the  unexpected  visit.  In 
the  five  years  of  his  absence  he  had  grown  a  good 
ten  years  older,  and  his  once  ruddy,  cheerful  face 
had  a  haggard  look.  To  the  rector's  quick  sym- 
pathies it  was  plain  at  once  that  the  one  great, 
dominant  fact  in  Captain  Job's  life  was  Melissa's 
death,  which  to  him  still  seemed  to  have  taken 
place  but  yesterday.  The  rector's  heart  responded 
understandingly  to  this  long,  engrossing  sorrow. 
His  words  were  all  of  tenderness,  of  indirect  con- 
dolence. Then  he  spoke  directly  of  Melissa's  death, 
and  of  the  story  of  her  heroism  as  it  had  come  to 
Westcock;  and  presently  Captain  Job  was  telling 
the  whole  story  at  fullest  length,  as  he  had  pieced 
it  together  from  various  eye-witnesses,  he  himself 
having  chanced  to  be  in  his  cabin  at  the  time.  The 
recital  evidently  flid  him  good.  Never  before,  in 
all  the  weary  years  that  he  had  dragged  through 
since  that  dreadful  day  at  the  Barcelona  pier,  had 
he  been  able  to  talk  to  one  whose  sympathy  was 
in  every  way  complete  and  understanding.  When 
he  had  quite  talked  himself  out  on  the  subject,  and 
dried  his  deep-set,  far-looking  eyes,  the  rector 


The  Rector  Speaks  Out  21 1 

gently  led  him  away  from  it,  to  accounts  of  the 
G.  G.  Goodridge  and  her  behaviour  in  a  gale,  of  the 
purple,  alien  waters  her  keel  had  ploughed,  of  the 
strange- jargoned,  strange-coloured,  strange-scented 
foreign  cities  whose  wharves  had  given  her  hospi- 
tality. In  these  accounts  the  rector  had  so  ardent 
an  interest,  —  feeling  himself  almost  a  part  of  them 
by  reason  of  that  part  of  him  which  had  gone  into 
the  life  of  the  ship,  —  that  poor  Captain  Job  caught 
some  warmth  from  his  ardour,  and  talked  till  a 
long  unwonted  light  came  back  into  his  eyes.  The 
rector  had  put  new  strength  and  cheer  into  his 
desolated  spirit. 

When  the  rector  started  to  go,  Captain  Job  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  ship's  side,  where,  far  down,  the 
little  tethered  boat  was  tossing  and  stemming  the 
tawny  rush  of  the  tide.  As  he  was  about  to  go 
over  the  rail,  the  rector  turned,  and  said,  in  a  low 
voice : 

"  Captain  Job,  I  want  you  to  do  something  for 
that  unhappy  child,  Luella  Warden.  Through  all 
her  terrible  trials  she  has  borne  herself  with  a 
patience  and  a  steadfastness  that  have  commanded 
our  sympathy.  She  has  never  been  vouchsafed  the 
slightest  clue  to  Jim  Calder's  treatment  of  her.  She 
is  desperately  anxious  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you, 
as  soon  as  possible.  Will  you  do  me  the  favour  to 


212  The  Heart  That  Knows 

make  an  appointment  with  her,  through  me,  either 
at  your  own  home,  or  at  the  parsonage?  " 

To  his  amazement,  as  he  spoke,  he  saw  that  the 
captain  was  getting  excited. 

"  I  won't  see  her !  "  he  cried,  harshly.  Then, 
remembering  himself,  he  went  on  more  quietly. 
"  Forgive  my  bluntness,  parson !  But  I  jest  can't 
see  that  girl.  I  couldn't  speak  civil  to  her,  nohow. 
/  know  what  she  is !  " 

The  rector's  smiling  face  had  grown  very  grave. 

"  You  astonish  me,  Job !  "  said  he,  soberly.  "  I 
really  think  it  is  your  duty  to  see  the  poor  child, 
though  I  asked  it  as  a  favour  to  myself.  //  you 
know  what  she  is,  you  must  know  that  she  is  an 
unfortunate  but  honest  and  pure-minded  girl,  led 
away  by  wretched  traditions,  and  the  victim  of  a 
misplaced  trust  in  the  man  who  was  to  have  been 
her  husband." 

Captain  Britton  was  now  red  in  the  face  with 
anger.  Under  the  rector's  steady  gaze,  however, 
he  controlled  himself. 

"  I'm  right  sorry  to  differ  with  you,  parson ! " 
he  said,  after  a  moment's  struggle.  "  But  I  know 
what  I  know.  I  know  what  kind  of  a  girl  she  is. 
I've  got  it  all,  straight  enough,  from  one  as  had  the 
proofs,  an'  whose  word  I'd  take  before  any  other 
livin'  being's.  If  that  girl's  pulled  the  wool  over 
your  eyes,  you  ain't  the  first  she's  done  it  to.  I 


The  Rector  Speaks  Out  213 

won't  see  her,  that's  flat.  If,  as  I  hear  tell,  she's 
got  a  boy,  'tain't  none  o'  Jim  Calder's,  that's  all  I 
can  say!  " 

The  rector's  face  was  grave  indeed,  now,  his 
high  white  forehead  white  still,  and  wrinkled  with 
indignation.  At  the  same  time,  there  was  a  certain 
shade  of  embarrassment,  of  doubt,  in  his  indignant 
eyes.  Something  fanatical  in  Captain  Job's  tone 
and  attitude  convinced  him  that  the  unknown  in- 
formant, whose  word  was  so  far  above  question, 
was  none  other  than  Melissa  herself,  who  had,  for 
some  inexplicable  reason,  poisoned  her  father's 
mind  against  Luella.  Melissa  was  dead,  beyond 
reach  of  reproach;  and  the  rector  could  not  bring 
himself  to  imply  to  her  sorrowing  father  that  she 
might  have  lied.  For  the  moment,  he  avoided  seek- 
ing an  explanation  of  the  captain's  words. 

"  You  are  not  yourself,  Job  Britton ! "  he  an- 
swered, in  a  tone  of  stern  rebuke.  "  Your  grief 
over  your  child  has  warped  your  judgment,  and 
somehow  perverted  your  good  heart.  So  I  make 
allowance,  this  time,  for  the  wicked  and  brutal 
slander  you  have  just  spoken.  Your  own  con- 
science, I  believe,  will  some  day  convict  you  of 
the  lie.  But  don't  dare  to  speak  that  way  again  to 
me,  or  in  my  hearing,  of  that  wronged  and  defence- 
less girl.  From  the  tongues  of  women,  my  own 
parishioners  here  in  Westcock,  I  am  unable  to  pro- 


214          The  Heart  That  Knows 

tect  the  poor  child.  From  the  slander  of  men  I 
can,  and  I  will,  Job."  And  he  eyed  the  captain 
in  a  way  he  had,  which  never  failed  to  convince 
any  one  that  he  meant  just  what  he  said.  It  had 
instant  effect  on  the  overexcited  man  before  him. 

"  I'm  sorry  we  can't  see  the  same  way  in  this 
matter,  parson,"  said  Captain  Job,  quieting  down. 
"  But,  of  course,  I'm  bound  to  respect  your  wishes 
as  regards  the  girl,  since  you  stand  up  for  her. 
Only,  don't  ask  me  to  see  her,  fer  I  won't  do  it,  an' 
that's  all  there  is  to  it!" 

"  No,  it's  not  all  there  is  to  it,  Job !  "  retorted 
the  rector,  sharply.  "  You  stated  that  you  had 
proofs.  I  want  you  to  make  that  good  to  me,  now, 
or  take  it  back."  He  had  grown  hot  during 
the  captain's  speech.  He  knew,  beyond  the  reach 
of  question,  that  Luella  was  innocent  of  the  vile 
charge  just  uttered  against  her.  But  he  knew,  too, 
that  it  was  whispered  in  Westcock,  in  some  quar- 
ters. In  rebutting  that  wicked  and  dangerous 
slander,  the  truth  might  strike  whom  it  would. 

Captain  Britton  found  himself  in  an  awkward 
situation.  He  had  no  proofs.  He  had  merely  been 
told  by  Melissa  that  she  had  had  proofs.  More- 
over, she  had  pledged  him,  cleverly  justifying  the 
pledge  as  she  did  so,  never  to  let  any  one  know 
that  she  had  told  him,  —  never  to  let  her  name 
"  be  dragged  into  it,"  as  she  put  it.  He  believed 


The  Rector  Speaks  Out  215 

her,  naturally.  But  he  could  not  support  his  state- 
ment without  betraying  her.  He  wished  that  he  had 
held  a  better  guard  upon  his  tongue. 

"  I  didn't  say  as  how  /  had  the  proofs,  parson!  " 
he  protested,  awkwardly.  "  I  said  I'd  got  it 
straight  from  one  as  did  have  the  proofs,  —  an' 
whose  word  was  as  good  as  proof.  Same  time, 
there's  circumstances  I  can't  explain,  which  make 
it  impossible  for  me  to  go  into  it  more  fully." 

The  scorn  in  the  rector's  eyes  was  not  pleasant 
to  face. 

"  And  it's  you,  Job  Britton,"  he  said,  slowly, 
"  the  father  of  a  girl  who  was  Luella's  friend,  whom 
I  have  heard  stabbing  a  defenceless  girl  in  the  back, 
with  the  foulest  slander  that  you  could  utter.  I 
little  thought  it  would  ever  be  you,  who  would  be 
the  one  to  call  such  words  from  me.  But  whoever 
it  was  that  told  you  he  had  *  proofs  '  of  that  dis- 
graceful slander,"  —  and  here  the  rector  spoke  very 
slowly,  holding  his  hearer  with  an  eye  that  was  as 
cold  and  dangerous  as  steel,  — "  whoever  it  was, 
he  lied  to  you;  and  whoever  repeats  it,  he  lies." 

He  paused  for  a  reply ;  but  the  captain,  too  much 
abashed  and  too  bitterly  conscious  of  the  false 
position  in  which  he  had  placed  himself,  looked 
away  in  uneasy  silence. 

"  And  furthermore,  Job,"  he  went  on,  "  I  de- 
mand that  you  tell  me  who  that  person  was,  that 


216  The  Heart  That  Knows 

I  may  deal  with  him  as  he  deserves.  In  repeating 
the  lie  as  you  did,  you  made  yourself  in  a  measure 
responsible  for  it.  But  I  know  you  are  honest,  just 
as  I  know  Luella  Warden  is  honest.  I  want  to 
get  at  the  real  liar.  I  have  been  aching,  these  five 
years,  to  get  at  the  real  author  of  all  this  misery 
and  devilish  wrong." 

There  was  absolutely  nothing  for  the  captain 
lo  do  but  strive  to  squirm  out  of  his  dilemma.  He 
had  no  defence  that  would  not  involve  Melissa. 
He  could  not  resent  the  rector's  uncompromising 
speech,  without  getting  himself  still  more  deeply 
into  the  mire.  He  knew  what  simple,  old-fash- 
ioned delight  it  would  give  the  rector  to  fight  in 
defence  of  a  woman's  reputation,  —  and  how  un- 
pleasant it  would  be  for  his  opponent. 

"  I  was  wrong,  parson,"  he  stammered,  looking 
excessively  ashamed.  "  I  ain't  going  to  say  I  don't 
believe  that  thing  that  was  told  me,  for  I  can't 
doubt  that  person's  word,  no  more  than  I  can  doubt 
yours.  But  for  saying  a  thing  like  that  about  a 
girl,  without  having  any  call  to  say  it,  I'd  ought  to 
be  right  well  ashamed  of  myself,  —  and  I  am  that, 
parson.  And  I'll  promise  you  I  won't  never  say 
one  word  more  agin  the  girl,  —  nor  hint  it,  nor 
look  it,  neither.  But  feeling  as  I  do,  I  can't  see 
her,  of  course;  an'  you  mustn't  press  me  to,  par- 
son." 


The  Rector  Speaks  Out  217 

"Well,  I  suppose  that's  for  you  to  say,  Job!'* 
answered  the  rector,  softening  at  the  sight  of  the 
captain's  repentance,  and  holding  out  his  hand.  "  I 
do  know  that  you  believe  you  are  doing  right.  Let 
us  forget  this  argument.  Even  friends  as  old  as 
you  and  I  can't  always  see  alike.  Be  sure  and  get 
in  to  see  us  as  soon  as  you  can.  I  wish  you'd  drop 
in  and  take  tea  with  us  to-morrow  night,  if  you 
can  make  it  convenient.  Mrs.  Goodridge  is  eager 
to  see  you,  and  has  so  much  to  ask  you  about." 

"  All  right,  parson,  I'll  come  to-morrow  night!  " 
replied  the  captain,  his  face  brightening  as  he  re- 
turned the  rector's  hearty  hand-clasp.  "  Look  out, 
now,  where  you  set  your  feet,  if  you  ain't  used  to 
a  rope-ladder ! "  he  added,  as  the  rector  went  over 
the  side. 

"  No !  I'm  not  used  to  them,  exactly.  We  don't 
use  'em  at  the  parsonage.  But  I  can  manage  'em  all 
right !  "  laughed  the  rector,  —  and  he  went  nimbly 
down  one  of  the  side-ropes,  hand  over  hand. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

SETH    AND   HIS   SCHOOLMATES 

LUELLA  could  not  help  brooding,  for  a  few  days, 
over  Captain  Britton's  refusal  to  see  her,  though 
the  rector  had  mitigated  it  as  much  as  he  could  in 
the  telling.  She  was  unable  to  make  up  her  mind 
whether  the  captain's  unfriendliness  was  due  to 
some  treachery  of  Melissa's,  or  to  something  said 
by  Jim  himself.  Instinct  and  inclination  at  length 
combined  to  fix  the  blame  on  Melissa;  and  a  sus- 
picion dawned  upon  her  that  perhaps  Melissa  had 
been  behind  the  whole  trouble.  Thereupon,  she 
felt  less  dejected  about  it,  and  tried  to  dismiss  it 
from  her  mind.  But  she  no  longer  wanted  to  see 
Ezra  Boltenhouse,  lest  she  should  meet  a  similar 
snub  from  him. 

She  was  now,  for  little  Seth's  sake,  going  about 
the  village  with  somewhat  more  freedom.  She 
met  with  frequent  coldness,  and  some  blank  in- 
solence, but,  on  the  whole,  with  more  kindliness  and 
good-will  than  she  had  expected;  and  several 

218 


Seth  and  His  Schoolmates         219 

women  of  the  congregation,  wishing  to  stand  well 
with  Mrs.  Goodridge,  came  out  openly  in  her  sup- 
port. 

From  this  time  onward,  however,  Luella  grew 
less  and  less  concerned  about  herself,  more  and 
more  engrossed  in  little  Seth.  The  boy  was  notably 
tall  and  strong  "  of  his  age,"  as  the  phrase  went, 
and  full  of  abounding  health.  With  his  dark  brown 
hair,  dark  skin,  and  dark  slaty-gray  eyes,  he  was 
"  the  dead  image  of  Jim  Calder's  grandfather," 
according  to  Mrs.  Bembridge.  Born  as  he  had  been 
under  the  shadow  of  his  mother's  sorrow,  he  was 
rather  a  sombre,  thoughtful  child,  but  joyous 
enough  at  times,  and  good-tempered  with  the  cheer 
of  sound  health.  Strangers  invariably  mistook  him 
to  be  at  least  two  years  older  than  he  was. 

Till  he  was  seven  years  old  little  Seth  got  all  his 
schooling  from  his  mother,  learning  to  read  a  little, 
to  make  boyish  letters  and  figures  on  a  slate,  and  to 
distinguish  many  kinds  of  trees  and  flowers.  Dur- 
ing this  time  he  had  no  playmates  except  little  Alfy 
Russ,  of  his  own  age,  and  Alfy's  two  rather  patron- 
izing sisters,  Mandy  and  Julie,  who  were  nine  and 
eleven  respectively.  Well  cautioned  by  Mrs.  Russ, 
their  mother,  who  valued  Mrs.  Bembridge's  good- 
will, and  had  a  superstitious  dread  of  her  anger, 
these  two  little  girls  were  careful  never  to  say  any- 
thing, in  any  childish  quarrel,  which  might  hurt 


220  The  Heart  That  Knows 

Luella's  feelings  if  Seth  should  innocently  repeat  it 
at  home.  But  with  that  sex  precocity  which  is  not 
uncommon  among  country  children,  the  little  girls 
understood  their  playmate's  equivocal  situation  very; 
well,  and  would  sometimes  hold  slightly  aloof 
from  him  when  other  children  were  about.  To 
Seth,  who  found  Alfy  always  ready  to  play  with 
him,  this  changeableness  in  Julie  and  Mandy  seemed 
nothing  of  more  importance  than  girls'  whims. 
Girls  were  queer,  anyway;  and  when  Mandy  and 
Julie  did  not  want  to  be  nice  to  him  he  promptly 
forgot  all  about  them. 

But  when,  at  last,  his  mother  and  "  Granny  "  (as 
he  had  been  taught  to  call  Mrs.  Bembridge)  de- 
cided that  he  was  old  enough  to  go  to  school,  there 
came  a  difference  which  he  could  not  understand. 
At  first,  of  course,  he  had  to  put  up  with  the  knock- 
ing about  and  snubbing  and  heartless  ridicule  which 
those  primitive  savages  known  as  children  always 
visit  upon  a  stranger  of  their  own  kind.  He  re- 
sisted sturdily  the  boys  and  girls  of  his  own  size, 
avoided  as  best  as  he  could  the  bigger  ones,  and 
sobbed  with  resentful  grief  because  his  attempts 
to  make  friends  were  met  with  jeers.  Alfy,  how- 
ever, who  had  been  going  to  school  for  some 
months,  assured  him  that  it  was  all  right,  that  the 
new  boy  always  got  treated  that  way,  and  that  it 
was  nothing  for  him  to  "  feel  bad  "  about,  There- 


Seth  and  His  Schoolmates          221 

fore,  being  a  plucky  youngster,  Seth  fought  it  out 
and  faced  it  out  as  well  as  he  could,  and  did  not 
let  it  dwell  on  his  mind  after  he  got  home  from 
school.  Recess,  of  course,  was  the  worst  time  in 
the  school  day  for  him,  and,  acting  on  Alfy's  ad- 
vice he  managed  to  get  himself  "  kept  in  "  at  recess 
almost  every  day.  This  did  not  require  any  serious 
transgression  on  his  part,  for  Miss  Barnes,  the 
teacher,  seemed  particularly  keen  to  single  him  out, 
on  the  least  excuse,  for  this  punishment.  Miss 
Barnes  was  an  experienced  teacher,  a  shrewd  ob- 
server of  her  young  charges,  and  well  aware  of  the 
ingenious  cruelty  of  which  a  mob  of  children  can  be 
guilty.  She  had  probably  befriended  many  a  "  new 
boy,"  without  his  guessing  it,  by  the  simple  expe- 
dient of  keeping  him  in  at  recess  until  the  children 
had  got  used  to  him  and  ceased  to  regard  him  as 
their  lawful  victim. 

During  this  rather  distressful  period,  which  so 
many  a  child  has  to  go  through,  Seth's  sense  of 
injury  was  too  confused  for  him  to  take  note  of 
any  special  form  of  derision  or  taunt  that  was  cast 
upon  him.  References  to  his  own  or  his  mother's 
situation  glanced  off  harmlessly  from  the  armour 
of  his  innocence.  Epithets  which  were  cast  at  him 
by  precociously  knowing  and  malicious  brats  had 
no  significance  to  him,  and  did  not  even  catch  in 
his  memory;  and  as  Alfy  did  not  understand  them 


222  The  Heart  That  Knows 

any  better  than  he  did,  there  was  no  harsh  enlight- 
enment forthcoming  from  that  quarter.  Alfy's 
sisters  understood,  and  because  Seth  was  an  ac- 
cepted playmate  of  theirs,  they  resented,  and  took 
his  part,  at  times,  with  a  fine  little  fury  of  sym- 
pathy. This  championship  was  not  quite  to  be 
depended  on,  however;  for  when  Mandy  took  his 
part  with  any  degree  of  zeal,  Julie  was  prone  to 
go  over  to  the  other  side,  and  vice  versa.  But 
whichever  championed  him,  toward  that  one  Seth's 
heart  always  went  out  in  grateful  warmth.  Both 
Julie  and  Mandy  he  looked  up  to  with  immense 
respect,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  allowed  him, 
sometimes,  to  play  with  them,  —  and  that  he  could 
beat  either  of  them,  easily,  at  wrestling. 

As  it  chanced,  among  all  the  children  at  the 
school  there  was  none  so  scornfully  and  tirelessly 
vituperative  toward  poor  Seth  than  the  gipsy-eyed 
little  witch,  Sadie  Babcock,  who  had  been  so  insult- 
ing to  Luella  a  couple  of  years  before.  She  was 
a  year  older  than  Julie  Russ,  and  prettier  than 
either  Julie  or  Mandy.  But  in  wits  she  was  no 
match  for  either.  One  day  at  recess  she  had  been 
particularly  nasty  to  Seth,  and  Mandy  Russ,  com- 
ing up  just  in  time  to  catch  what  was  said,  saw 
Seth's  grave  little  mouth  quiver  with  uncompre- 
hending hurt.  Mandy  proceeded  to  tell  Sadie  such 
home-truths,  as  to  certain  near  ancestors  of  hers, 


Seth  and  His  Schoolmates          223 

that  Sadie,  flying  into  a  rage,  fell  upon  her  tooth 
and  nail.  In  a  battle  of  this  sort,  of  course,  nine- 
year-old  Mandy  was  no  match  for  her  heavier  and 
equally  active  opponent;  but  Julie  came  to  her 
sister's  rescue  like  a  whirlwind,  and  Sadie  was 
promptly  cuffed  and  clawed  into  a  kind  of  raging 
submission.  Little  Seth  stood  looking  on,  his  heart 
bursting  with  shame  at  the  sight  of  girls  righting 
his  battles  for  him.  Moreover,  he  felt  a  strange 
pang  of  regret  for  the  beaten  Sadie.  Ever  after- 
ward he  flushed  hot  at  any  chance  remembrance  of 
it,  and,  as  a  sort  of  compensation,  when  he  grew 
older  he  never  let  slip  an  opportunity  to  fight  a 
girl's  battles. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  Seth  slipped 
into  his  own  small  niche  in  the  school,  ceased  to  be 
new  boy,  and  was  idly  allowed  his  rights  as  a  mem- 
ber of  their  turbulent  little  confraternity.  These 
rights  included  freedom  from  mass  attack  on  the 
part  of  the  rest  of  the  school,  freedom  to  fight  his 
own  battles  and  win  or  lose  as  best  he  might,  and 
tacit  permission  to  join  if  he  would  in  the  persecu- 
tion of  the  next  newcomer.  Having  accepted  him 
in  this  way,  the  majority  of  his  schoolmates  thought 
no  more  of  his  mother,  or  his  lack  of  a  father,  and 
regarded  him  only  in  so  far  as  he  could  make  him- 
self felt  in  their  noisy,  enthusiastic,  capricious 
sports  and  ventures.  A  few,  however,  were  always 


224  The  Heart  That  Knows 

more  or  less  uncivil  to  him,  or  insolently  superior  in 
a  way  that  made  his  heart  swell  with  rage; 
and,  once  in  awhile,  in  the  event  of  a  quarrel,  he 
was  liable  to  be  made  the  target  for  epithets  which 
he  did  not  understand,  though  he  vaguely  felt  them 
to  be  insulting.  This  feeling  grew  less  vague,  and 
more  strenuous,  as  it  gradually  dawned  upon  him 
that  none  of  the  other  children  —  save  one,  a  shy, 
freckle- faced  little  girl  —  ever  had  quite  the  same 
taunting  epithets  applied  to  them,  no  matter  how 
violent  the  quarrel  in  which  they  might  be  in- 
volved. Seth  had  been  going  to  school  two  years 
before  these  things  got  really  under  his  skin.  By 
reason  of  his  personal  prowess  in  all  games,  his 
general  kindliness  and  fairness,  and  his  readiness 
to  take  his  own  part,  —  or  that  of  any  other  child 
who  was  being  bullied,  —  he  was  popular  among 
the  children  of  his  own  age,  —  and  no  boy  of  his 
own  size  dared  to  taunt  him.  What  the  bigger 
ones  might  say  hardly  touched  him,  since  he  could 
not  do  anything  about  it. 

It  was  from  observing  the  effect  of  such  taunts 
upon  the  shy  little  freckle-faced  girl  that  his  eyes 
were  suddenly  opened.  It  had  not  been  really  borne 
in  upon  him,  hitherto,  that  certain  derisive  epithets 
which,  upon  occasion,  had  been  hurled  at  himself, 
were  any  more  peculiarly  opprobious  than  those 
which  his  playmates  were  wont  to  bandy  freely  in 


Seth  and  His  Schoolmates         225 

case  of  heat.  But  to  the  little  freckle-faced  girl 
they  were  evidently  different.  One  showery  noon 
she  managed,  unwittingly  but  clumsily  enough,  to 
spatter  some  mud  on  Sadie  Babcock's  clean  pink 
calico  frock. 

"  You  little  fool !  "  snapped  Sadie,  angrily,  — 
she  was  now  in  the  upper  class,  and  counted  her- 
self one  of  the  big  girls,  — "  can't  you  be  care- 
ful?" 

But  as  she  surveyed  the  extent  of  the  damage 
her  hot  temper  flared  higher.  Freckle-face,  quite 
untroubled  by  being  called  a  fool,  had  run  at 
once  to  wet  her  handkerchief  in  the  pail  behind 
the  door. 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry!  "  she  cried,  solicitously.  "  Let 
me  wash  it  off  for  you,  Sadie!  " 

Now,  as  this  would  have  merely  made  it  worse, 
Sadie  turned  upon  her  like  a  fury,  and  jumped 
away. 

"  Get  out,  you  clumsy  little  bastard !  "  she  cried. 
"  Don't  you  dare  to  come  near  me !  " 

Freckle-face  started  back  as  if  she  had  been 
struck.  Her  small,  thin  face  flushed  scarlet,  her 
eyes  grew  large,  with  a  look  of  piteous  hurt  which 
touched  Seth  to  the  heart,  and  her  lips  quivered. 
Then,  bursting  into  a  passion  of  tears,  she  ran  away 
and  hid  herself  in  the  spruce  bushes  behind  the 
schoolhouse.  Seth,  in  secret,  admired  Sadie  Bab- 


226  The  Heart  That  Knows 

cock  excessively,  and  was  sure  there  was  no  one  else 
in  the  world  so  beautiful,  except  his  mother.  But 
at  this  moment  he  was  filled  with  rage  against  her, 
and  wished  she  was  a  boy,  however  big,  that  he 
might  try  to  avenge  poor  Freckle-face.  Not  know- 
ing what  else  to  do,  he  turned  and  slipped  back  into 
the  bushes  himself,  thinking  to  find  her  and  comfort 
her.  Not  finding  her  at  once,  his  generous  purpose 
faltered  down  into  a  kind  of  embarrassment,  and 
he  returned  gloomily  to  the  school. 

That  same  afternoon,  as  it  chanced,  the  matter 
was  driven  home  for  him.  As  school  came  out,  and 
the  children,  breaking  loose,  trooped  down  the  steps 
with  shouts  and  jostling,  boisterous  challenge  and 
snatching  of  caps,  Seth,  on  the  bottom  step,  was 
dexterously  tripped,  by  a  girl  who  admired  him 
and  took  this  primitive  method  of  fixing  his  atten- 
tion upon  herself.  He  plunged  headlong,  clutched 
wildly  to  save  himself,  and  sent  his  next  neighbour 
sprawling  face  downward  in  the  mud.  He  had 
saved  himself,  —  but  he  trembled  at  the  result,  for 
his  victim,  Tommy  Coxen  by  name,  was  a  big,  vio- 
lent, hectoring  lad  of  thirteen,  with  whom  none  of 
the  other  children  ventured  to  take  many  liber- 
ties. 

Tommy  Coxen  was  not  altogether  a  bad  lot.  He 
was  capable,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  of  tak- 
ing an  accident  like  this  in  good  part.  But  as  he 


Seth  and  His  Schoolmates          227 

picked  himself  up,  much  decorated  with  mud,  the 
uproarious  laughter  that  greeted  his  appearance 
stung  him  to  sudden  rage.  He  had  just  been  whis- 
pering some  boyish  gallantry  to  Sadie  Babcock, 
when  he  fell;  and  now  her  shrill  laughter  rang  out 
above  all  the  rest.  It  was  too  much. 

"  You  damn  little  bastard !  "  he  shouted,  turning 
upon  Seth  with  scarlet,  mud-plastered  face,  "  I'll 
lick  hell  out  o'  you  fer  that." 

That  mysterious,  but  hideous  word  again!  Seth 
had  been  brooding  over  it  all  through  the  afternoon 
session.  Now,  it  seemed  to  smite  him  between  the 
eyes.  Baby  though  he  was,  things  turned  red  be- 
fore him.  With  a  scream  of  fury  he  sprang  straight 
for  Tommy  Coxen's  muddy  face,  striking  him  in 
the  mouth  with  one  fist,  and  with  both  knees  in  the 
stomach. 

The  attack  was  so  utterly  unlocked  for,  and  de- 
livered with  such  force,  moreover,  from  the  advan- 
tage of  the  step,  that  Tommy  Coxen  was  knocked 
clean  over,  falling  on  his  back  with  Seth  on  top  of 
him.  Seth  fought  like  a  wildcat,  but  he  was,  of 
course,  so  outclassed  that  the  struggle  was  brief. 
Almost  before  the  other  boys  could  form  a  ring 
around  the  combatants,  —  the  girls  peering  eagerly 
but  disapprovingly  over  their  shoulders,  —  Tommy 
had  hurled  Seth  off,  rolled  him  over,  pinned  him 
down,  and  drawn  off  to  "  paste  "  him.  Seth  shut 


228  The  Heart  That  Knows 

his  eyes  and  set  his  teeth  to  take  the  punishment. 
But  Tommy's  fist  never  fell. 

"Say,  young  one!"  he  said,  panting  a  little. 
"  There  ain't  nothin'  to  hender  me  givin'  ye  the 
blamedest  lickin'  yer  ever  got  in  yer  life,  be  there?  " 

"  Lick  away !  "  gasped  Seth,  with  a  sob  of  hys- 
teric rage. 

"  Well,  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter !  "  was  the  astonishing 
reply  that  made  him  open  his  eyes  again.  "  Ye've 
got  the  sand  all  right,  kid.  Served  me  jest  right, 
fer  callin'  yer  the  name  I  done.  Now  we're  quits. 
An'  if  any  other  chap,  what's  too  big  fer  you  to  lick 
yerself,  calls  you  that  agin,  you  tell  me  an'  I'll  lick 
him  fer  ye,  see! " 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  long  speech, 
Tommy  Coxen  got  up,  his  hurts  all  healed  by  the 
consciousness  that  he  had  done  a  fine  thing  in  a 
very  telling  way.  Jerking  Seth  to  his  feet,  he  held 
out  his  hand  to  him;  and  Seth,  amazed,  relieved, 
and  flattered,  grasped  it  shyly,  gulping  down  a  sob 
which  would  have  done  grievous  discredit  to  the 
situation.  There  was  a  general  clamour  of  appro- 
bation, and  Tommy  Coxen  moved  away  trium- 
phantly in  the  centre  of  a  knot  of  hero-worshippers. 
Seth  was  amazed  to  find  himself,  too,  something  of 
a  hero  for  the  moment.  Freckle-face  gazed  at  him 
with  luminous  eyes.  Sadie  Babcock  gave  him  a 
little  grin  of  approval,  as  it  were  in  spite  of  herself, 


Seth  and  His  Schoolmates         229 

—  for  she  dearly  loved  courage.  Half  a  dozen  of 
the  bigger  girls  and  boys  came  about  him  and 
patted  him  on  the  back.  But  he,  child  that  he  was, 
felt  in  terrible  danger  of  crying.  How  to  hold  back 
the  hated  tears  was  all  that  he  could  think  of.  For  a 
moment  or  two  he  grinned  rather  sheepishly  at  the 
compliments  he  was  getting.  Then,  blurting  out, 
"  I  mus'  be  gittin'  home  now !  "  he  broke  from  the 
crowd,  and  ran  away  into  the  bushes  as  fast  as  he 
could  go.  Once  safe  in  the  green,  sweet-smelling 
silence  of  the  firs,  well  beyond  ear-shot,  he  walked 
softly,  crying  off  the  tension  of  his  spirit.  He  did 
not  go  home  till  he  was  quite  himself  again,  because 
he  dreaded  to  have  his  mother,  or  Mrs.  Bembridge, 
ask  what  he  had  been  crying  about. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

SETH    BEGINS   TO   UNDERSTAND 

THAT  evening,  when  Luella,  Mrs.  Bembridge, 
and  Seth  were  sitting  at  their  simple  supper,  of 
hot  saleratus  biscuits  and  blueberries  and  cream, 
the  boy  was  unwontedly  silent.  He  was  so  deep  in 
his  musings  that  his  mother  and  Mrs.  Bembridge 
noticed  it,  and  exchanged  smiling  looks  in  regard 
to  it.  The  old  woman  was  just  about  to  offer  him 
the  proverbial  penny  in  exchange  for  the  matter  of 
meditations  so  profound,  when  suddenly  he  spoke 
what  was  on  his  mind. 

"  Mother,"  he  inquired,  scanning  her  face  with 
anxious  eyes,  "what  does  'bastard'  mean?" 

Mrs.  Bembridge  caught  her  breath  and  shifted 
her  gaze  from  Seth's  face  to  his  mother's  in  con- 
sternation. Luella  went  crimson,  then  pale  as 
death.  It  was  several  moments  before  she  could 
trust  her  voice  to  answer. 

"  Why,  dearie,"  she  asked  at  length,  to  gain 
time,  "  why  do  you  ask  such  a  question?  " 

230 


Seth  Begins  to  Understand         231 

"Is  it  so  awfully  bad,  mother?"    he  continued. 

Luella  did  not  dare  to  answer  without  some 
knowledge  of  what  was  behind  the  inquiry.  Mrs. 
Bembridge,  in  her  agitation,  spilled  all  the  hot  tea 
which  she  was  trying  to  pour  into  the  saucer,  and 
scalded  the  cat,  which  was  sitting  on  the  floor 
beside  her,  so  that  she  fled  out-of-doors  with  an 
indignant  yowl. 

"  Tell  me  why  you  ask,  Seth,"  insisted  Luella. 
"What's  put  that  word  into  your  head?" 

"  yVell,  mother,"  he  answered,  slowly,  "  it  seems 
to  make  people  a  lot  madder  to  be  called  that  than 
if  you  call  'em  '  damn  fool,'  or  '  liar,'  or  '  son-of-a- 
bitch.'  '  Here  he  hesitated.  He  had  intended  to 
tell  all  that  had  happened  between  himself  and 
Tommy  Coxen.  He  was  burning  to  tell  it,  be- 
cause he  had  so  heroically  wiped  out  the  insult. 
But  he  had  not  missed  that  first  horror  in  his 
mother's  face,  and  out  of  ardent  love  for  her  came 
a  quickness  of  instinct  that  led  him  to  keep  his 
counsel,  for  her  sake.  "  Why,  mother,"  he  went 
on,  "  just  before  school  went  in,  this  afternoon, 
Sadie  Babcock  got  mad  as  hops  at  Nellie  Winters, 
an'  called  her  a  little  bastard,  —  and  Nellie  felt  that 
bad  about  it  that  she  ran  away  into  the  bushes,  cry- 
ing, —  and  she  was  late  for  school,  an'  got  scolded, 
—  an'  didn't  seem  to  mind  that! " 

Luella  drew  a  breath   of  relief,   though  by  no 


232  The  Heart  That  Knows 

means  fully  reassured.  If  poor  little  Nellie  Win- 
ters got  it,  she  could  not  dare  hope  that  her  own 
child  would  escape.  Seth  had  to  be  answered,  how- 
ever. His  dark  eyes  were  on  her  face,  expectant, 
demanding. 

"  Dearie  boy,"  she  replied,  "  it  is  a  very  bad  and 
cruel  name  to  call  any  one.  I  can't  explain  to  you 
exactly  what  it  means,  till  you're  a  little  bit  older. 
You  mustn't  ask  me  now,  boy.  But  believe  me,  the 
badness  is  in  the  calling  people  that.  That's  the 
badness,  Seth.  Don't  you  ever  forget  that,  dearie. 
And  don't  you  ever,  ever,  ever  let  yourself  call  any 
one  that,  no  matter  what  a  temper  you  may  be  in, 
or  what  they  have  done  to  you." 

"  'A'  course  not,  mother !  I  wouldn't,  ever,  for 
anything ! "  protested  the  boy,  in  a  tone  that  car- 
ried conviction. 

Here  Mrs.  Bembridge  spoke  up,  unable  to  hold 
her  tongue  any  longer. 

"  An'  nobody,"  she  declared,  in  a  voice  harsh 
with  emotion,  "  nobody  but  a  nasty,  dirty,  low 
blackguard  would  call  another  body  that.  Anybody 
as  does,  they  ain't  got  no  right  to  have  other  folks 
speak  to  'em,  I  tell  you  that,  Seth." 

The  boy  bridled  at  this,  and  laid  down  his 
spoon. 

"  Well,  Granny,"  said  he,  positively,  "  Tommy 
Coxen  ain't  a  low,  dirty  blackguard.  He's  one  o* 


Seth  Begins  to  Understand          233 

my  very  best  friends,  —  my  bestest  friend  after 
Alfy,  mother." 

"Tommy  Coxen!"  exclaimed  Luella.  "Why, 
Seth,  dearie,  he's  a  big  boy.  He  must  be  fourteen 
or  fifteen,  —  eh,  Granny  ?  How  do  you  come  to 
be  friends  with  him?" 

Here  was  Seth's  chance  to  tell  his  story,  and  at 
the  same  time  divert  his  mother's  mind  from  the 
evidently  painful  subject  which  he  had  himself 
brought  up. 

"  Why,"  he  explained,  glancing  proudly  from  his 
mother's  face  to  Mrs.  Bembridge's,  and  back  again, 
"  you  know,  Granny,  he's  so  much  bigger'n  me,  he 
could  just  lambast  me  into  a  jell,  if  he  wanted  to. 
But  this  aft'noon,  when  school  was  comin'  out, 
when  I  jumped  right  on  to  him  —  an'  kicked  him  — 
an'  punched  him  fair  in  the  mouth  with  my  fist,  he 
didn't  do  a  thing  but  fling  me  down  an'  sit  on  me 
so's  I  couldn't  fight  him  any  more.  Then  he  picks 
me  up,  an'  says  to  me,  he  says,  '  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  hit 
you,  kid,  'cause  you  done  jest  right,  an'  you've  got 
the  sand  all  right ! '  He  said  that  to  me,  Granny. 
Then  he  shook  me  by  the  hand,  an'  told  me  —  " 

But  at  this  point  he  hesitated,  realizing  a  diffi- 
culty ahead  if  he  was  not  going  to  explain  fully. 

"Yes,  what  did  he  tell  you,  dear?"  urged  Lu- 
ella, tears  in  her  eyes,  thrilling  to  the  achievement 
of  her  tiny  defender,  —  while  Mrs.  Bembridge, 


234  The  Heart  That  Knows 

under  the  shelter  of  the  table-cloth,  clutched  her 
hand  in  sympathy. 

Seth  dropped  his  eyes  for  a  moment. 

"  He  told  me,  mother,  that  if  any  time  I  wanted 
to  lick  some  boy  that  was  too  big  for  me,  I  was  just 
to  let  him  know,  an'  he'd  lick  him  for  me,  good! 
I  don't  think  Tommy  Coxen's  a  low,  dirty  black- 
guard, Granny !  " 

"No,  that  he  ain't!"  agreed  Mrs.  Bembridge, 
emphatically. 

Luella  sat  silent  for  a  few  seconds,  then  she 
sprang  up,  seized  the  boy,  —  who  had  resumed  his 
blueberries  and  cream,  —  and  strained  him  pas- 
sionately to  her  heart.  Her  bitterness  over  the  in- 
sults which  he  had  suffered  was  mixed  with  tri- 
umph over  the  manly  way  he  had  borne  himself,  the 
tribute  he  had  won  from  the  reckless  young  rowdy, 
Tommy  Coxen. 

"  Oh,  muzz,  look  out !  "  protested  Seth,  wincing, 
"  you  hurt  my  arm !  " 

Then  Luella  realized  that  he  had  not  come  un- 
scathed out  of  the  fight  which  had  so  briefly  been 
described.  Unwillingly  the  boy  submitted  to  an 
investigation.  When  his  mother  pulled  off  his 
jacket,  and  rolled  up  the  sleeves  of  his  little  shirt, 
one  arm  was  found  to  be  black  and  blue  almost 
from  wrist  to  elbow.  Then  a  fine  large  bump  was 
discovered  on  the  back  of  his  head.  Seth  sturdily 


Seth  Begins  to  Understand          235 

insisted  that  these  injuries  were  nothing,  —  that 
he  did  not  even  know  of  their  existence.  He  was 
allowed,  indeed,  to  finish  his  supper,  but  immedi- 
ately afterward  he  was  compelled  to  submit  to  being 
"  fussed  over,"  with  arnica  and  cold  water  and 
caresses  unending,  for  a  whole  precious  half-hour 
when  he  might  have  been  down  in  Russ's  yard  play- 
ing with  Alfy  and  Mandy  and  Julie.  There  was 
new  hay  in  the  Russ's  mow,  and  he  was  impatient 
to  play  in  it.  To  the  two  women,  however,  his 
bumps  and  bruises  were  a  godsend  in  disguise. 
They  furnished  a  safety-valve  for  the  intense  emo- 
tions which  Seth's  narrative,  with  all  its  implica- 
tions, had  generated.  When,  at  last,  bathed,  ar- 
nicated,  and  petted  to  the  utmost  of  his  patience, 
Seth  was  set  free,  he  ran  hallooing  down  the  lane 
for  a  romp  with  Alfy  in  the  wonderful,  stimulating, 
mysterious  summer  twilight,  leaving  his  mother  and 
Mrs.  Bembridge  to  sit  down  together  by  the  win- 
dow and  tell  his  story  over  again  to  each  other  with 
infinite  elaboration  and  inference. 

After  this  Seth  found  his  position  at  school  some- 
what easier.  Among  children,  prestige  weighs 
heavily.  Those  who  persisted  in  shunning  him  or 
snubbing  him  were  less  aggressive  about  it,  because 
it  was  no  longer  a  popular  thing  to  do.  As  for 
taunting  him  with  the  unspeakable  epithet,  no  one 
was  likely  to  do  it  in  mere  brutal  thoughtlessness, 


236  The  Heart  That  Knows 

for  Seth's  outburst  of  madness  had  shown  the 
dangers  of  it.  Then  the  midsummer  holidays 
came.  The  gray,  little,  red-doored  schoolhouse  was 
locked,  its  windows  were  boarded  up  for  protection 
against  stones,  and  Seth  returned  to  the  sole  com- 
radeship of  Alfy  and  his  sisters,  varied  by  frequent 
trips  through  the  fir  pasture  to  the  parsonage,  where 
both  the  rector  and  Mrs.  Goodridge  made  much  of 
him  always,  and  took  delight  in  his  quaint, 
grown-up  fashion  of  speech. 

The  Russ  children  were  almost  as  busy  in  the 
holidays  as  in  term-time,  the  girls  helping  their 
mother  in  housework,  wool-carding,  and  flax-spin- 
ning on  the  little  wheel.  The  big  wheel  used  for 
the  spinning  of  woollen  yarn  they  were  not  yet  tall 
enough  to  use.  Alfy  helped  his  father  with  the 
barn  chores,  and  with  light  work  around  the  farm. 
There  was  little  playtime  for  him  till  sundown  and 
supper-time,  when  the  cows  had  been  milked  and 
turned  out  again  to  pasture.  Seth,  therefore,  was 
thrown  much  on  his  own  resources  during  the 
day. 

His  days,  however,  were  never  too  long.  He 
had  certain  light  daily  duties  in  connection  with 
Mrs.  Bembridge's  hens,  —  the  beautiful  "  Blue 
Creepies,"  which  he  so  much  admired.  Then  he 
had  time  to  read,  —  and  ample  material,  of  bewil- 
dering fascination,  in  the  books  which  Mr.  Good- 


Seth  Begins  to  Understand          237 

ridge  was  always  ready  to  lend  him.  Then,  there 
was  the  ever  open  book  of  the  green  world,  con- 
tinually inviting  him.  Both  Luella  and  Mrs.  Bern- 
bridge  encouraged  his  interest  in  all  the  wild  things, 
plant  or  tree,  beast  or  bird  or  insect;  and  he  spent 
magic  hours  alone  in  the  fir  pasture,  silent  and 
moveless  as  the  gray  stumps  or  the  green  hillocks, 
watching  all  the  quick-eyed,  furtive  life  that  went 
on  around  him,  or  listening  to  the  stealthy  wilder- 
ness sounds  till  his  ear  could  unravel  every  diverse 
strand  in  the  tenuous  but  complex  tissue.  Some- 
times, however,  he  neither  watched  nor  listened, 
away  in  his  bright  retreats,  —  but  fell  into  troubled 
brooding  over  the  meaning  of  the  forbidden  word, 

—  the  subtle  difference  which  a  few  of  his  play- 
mates made  him  feel  between  himself  and  them, 

—  and  that  look  in  his  mother's  eyes,  which  had 
in  some  inexplicable  way  reminded  him  of  the  look 
in  the  eyes  of  Freckle-face  under  Sadie  Babcock's 
insult.     These   ponderings  were  not  yet  frequent 
enough,  or  enlightened  enough,  to  cast  any  gloom 
over  his  ordinary  cheer.    But  they  caused  him  some 
troubled  half-hours,  and  gave  him,  at  rare  inter- 
vals, a  hint  of  foreboding,  which  would  make  his 
heart  sink  suddenly,  he  could  not  guess  why.     For 
the  most  part,  however,  he  got  nothing  but  wisdom 
and  strength  and  curious  knowledge  from  his  in- 
timacies with  the  wilderness,  —  and  the  gift  of  the 


238  The  Heart  That  Knows 

seeing  eye,  the  patient,  waiting  hand,  the  controlled 
and  ready  nerve.  And  it  came  about  that  not  in 
strength  and  stature  only,  but  in  thought,  imagina- 
tion, and  reserve,  the  child  was  older  than  his  years. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

THE   MEANING  OF   THE   WORD 

IT  was  not  until  the  following  spring  that  Seth 
got  any  further  light  on  the  matter  of  that  myste- 
rious difference  between  himself  and  the  other  boys, 
—  between  himself  and  Alfy,  for  instance.  It  was 
one  soft  evening  at  the  end  of  May,  when  the  air 
was  poignant  with  the  far,  wistful  piping  of  the 
frogs.  Seth,  Alfy,  and  Mandy  were  bringing  home 
the  Russ's  cows  from  pasture.  They  were  just  put- 
ting up  the  bars,  when  along  came  three  big,  rough- 
looking  boys,  swaggering  and  yelling. 

"  Don't  speak  to  'em,"  whispered  Mandy,  hur- 
riedly, "  they're  horrid  Wood  Pointers !  " 

There  was  always  some  enmity  between  the 
Westcock  boys  and  those  of  Wood  Point.  A  boy 
who  seemed  to  be  ringleader  of  the  rowdy  strangers 
promptly  gave  evidence  of  this  by  shying  a  stone 
at  one  of  the  cows,  which  had  just  filed  out  upon 
the  road.  She  was  one  that  had  but  recently  "  come 
in,"  as  the  phrase  goes,  and  her  great  udder  was 
swollen  with  milk.  The  stone  hit  her  sharply  on 

239 


240          The  Heart  That  Knows 

the  leg,  cutting  her,  and  putting  her  on  the  run. 
Alfy  was  outraged,  both  in  his  tender-heartedness 
and  in  his  instincts  as  a  farmer,  —  for  he  knew  it 
was  injurious  to  make  a  new  milch-cow  run. 

"  Quit  that!  "  he  shouted,  angrily.  "  Don't  you 
go  runnin'  our  cows !  "  And  Seth,  who  was  a  little 
behind,  having  just  put  up  the  last  bar,  ran  forward 
to  stand  beside  him. 

"  Aw,  go  chase  yerself ! "  jeered  the  boy  who 
had  thrown  the  stone.  "  Who's  a-goin'  to  stop 
me?"  And  he  picked  up  another  stone  as  if  to 
repeat  the  offence. 

Alfy  advanced  fearlessly.  All  three  of  the  Wood 
Pointers  were  bigger  than  either  himself  or  Seth; 
but  he  was  strong  in  the  knowledge  that  he  was  in 
the  right,  and  confident  in  Seth's  fierce  courage. 

"  You  let  them  cows  alone,  Si  Hatch,"  he  shouted, 
"  or  I'll  tell  my  father  on  you.  You  better  bet,  'f 
he  hears  you've  been  a-stonin'  our  cows,  or  a-run- 
nin'  of  'em  when  they're  in  milk,  he'll  tan  yer  hide 
fer  you,  or  else  have  the  law  on  you." 

"  Aw,  go  chase  yerself ! "  repeated  Si  Hatch, 
who  was  not  gifted  with  originality.  "  Who  keers 
fer  your  father?  "  But  he  refrained  from  throwing 
the  stone.  Alfy's  threat  was  an  effective  one,  for 
no  farmer  would  tolerate  having  his  cows  run. 

"  You'll  keer,  'f  you  don't  look  smart !  "  retorted 
Alfy,  quick  to  follow  up  his  advantage.  "  My 


The  Meaning  of  the  Word        241 

father's  Joe  Russ,  —  an'  you  don't  want  to  fool 
with  him." 

This  was  an  unanswerable  argument.  Joe  Russ's 
violent  and  implacable  temper  was  well-known. 
The  other  two  boys,  who  had  been  waiting,  grin- 
ning, to  back  up  their  leader  in  any  way  that  might 
seem  most  amusing,  were  glad  they  had  kept  quiet. 
But  Si  Hatch  could  not  endure  to  back  down  with- 
out a  struggle  to  divert  attention  from  his  crawl. 
Swaggering  up  to  Alfy  he  snapped  his  fingers  in 
his  face,  spat  on  the  ground  to  show  his  contempt, 
then  turned  sarcastically  to  Seth,  who  stood  wait- 
ing, fists  and  teeth  clenched,  to  hurl  himself  into 
the  attack  at  the  first  sign  of  Alfy's  need. 

"  An'  I  s'pose  you've  got  a  turble  kind  of  a 
father,  too!"  he  sneered.  "Who  might  your 
father  be,  sonny?" 

Mandy  Russ,  standing  wide-eyed  and  expectant 
in  the  background,  caught  her  breath.  She  remem- 
bered vividly  Seth's  wildcat  assault  upon  Tommy 
Coxen.  She  looked  to  see  him  dart  straight  at  Si 
Hatch's  throat.  To  her  amazement,  he  did  not  seem 
to  know  he  was  insulted.  While  obviously  resent- 
ing Si's  manner,  he  looked  puzzled,  as  if  confronted 
by  a  new  idea.  He  had  never  concerned  himself 
about  a  father,  being  wholly,  and  trustingly,  con- 
tented with  his  mother.  In  that  seafaring,  sea- 
ravaged  community  there  were  plenty  of  house- 


242  The  Heart  That  Knows 

holds  where  the  mother  had  to  be  father  and  mother 
both.  There  was  nothing  unusual  enough  in  that 
situation  to  make  the  absence  of  a  father  from  his 
own  life  a  conspicuous  thing  to  him.  He  had  never 
missed  a  father.  So  he  had  never  thought  of  one. 
A  child  may  go  on  year  after  year  taking  a  situa- 
tion for  granted,  till  suddenly  the  situation,  which 
had  seemed  so  harmless,  turns  upon  him  like  a 
snarling  beast. 

"  Who  might  your  father  be  ?  " 

The  idea  was  such  a  tremendous  one  that  Seth 
was  astounded  out  of  all  anger. 

"My  father?"  he  faltered.  "Why  —  "  he 
suddenly  realized  that,  somehow,  it  would  never  do 
to  say  he  didn't  know.  Then  an  inspiration  came 
to  him.  "  Why,  Mr.  Warden,  of  course.  Mr. 
Warden  was  my  father,  I'd  have  you  know !  " 

The  Wood  Point  boy,  belonging  to  another 
school  district,  had  not  recognized  Seth.  He  knew 
all  about  him,  however.  Now  he  hooted  in  joyous 
derision.  Here  was  his  triumph,  after  all. 

"Mr.  Warden!  Mr.  Warden!"  he  crowed,  with 
jeering  inflections  that  brought  the  hot  blood  to 
Seth's  face  he  knew  not  why.  "Mister  Warden! 
That's  yer  mother's  name.  You  hain't  got  no 
father." 

Seth  just  stared  at  him,  with  wide  dark  eyes 
into  which  an  awful  fear  was  coming.  He  did  not 


The  Meaning  of  the  Word        243 

yet  realize  how  far  he  should  resent  this  statement, 
—  the  truth  of  which  he  somehow  could  not  doubt. 
Not  rage,  but  anguish  and  amazement,  were  surg- 
ing wildly  in  his  heart.  The  expression  of  his  face 
stirred  Mandy's  sympathy  to  a  white  heat.  She 
ran  up,  and  blazed  out  at  the  young  bully. 

"  Git  out  of  this,  you  Wood  Point  loafer !  "  she 
cried,  "  or  I'll  git  my  father  to  whale  you  half  to 
death." 

"  Spit  cat ! "  retorted  Si,  hugely  amused,  and 
conscious  that  Mandy,  with  her  flaming  blue  eyes 
and  long  bright  hair,  was  very  pretty,  —  "I  ain't 
skeered  o'  yer  pretty  claws.  An'  ye  know  right 
well  he  hain't  got  no  father.  He's  jest  a  little 
Come-by-chance ! " 

By  this  time  Seth  had  understood.  He  had  ex- 
pected another  word  than  "  Come-by-chance."  But 
in  a  flash  he  knew  that  they  meant  the  same  thing. 
He  saw  that  piteous  look  in  the  eyes  of  Freckle- 
face,  —  in  the  eyes  of  his  mother.  Then,  once 
more  things  looked  red  before  him,  and  he  saw 
only  Si  Hatch's  face,  leering.  On  the  instant,  he 
leaped.  One  fist  landed  solidly  in  the  bully's  eye, 
the  other,  a  fraction  of  a  second  later,  on  his  mouth, 
knocking  out  a  tooth.  Taken  by  surprise,  the  big 
fellow  staggered  backwards.  Recovering  himself  in 
an  instant,  he  launched  a  blow  which  would  have 
knocked  his  small  opponent  clean  out  had  it  landed 


244  The  Heart  That  Knows 

fairly.  Seth  dodged,  however,  quick  as  a  cat,  so 
the  blow  glanced,  merely  cutting  his  cheek  and  mak- 
ing his  head  spin ;  and  before  Si  could  follow  it  up, 
Alfy  had  closed  in,  jumping  on  the  bully's  neck  and 
trying  to  choke  him. 

In  a  moment  the  three  were  rolling  on  the 
ground,  panting  and  grappling  and  crying  out  like 
young  animals,  while  the  other  two  Wood  Pointers, 
with  a  wholesome  dread  of  Farmer  Russ  before 
their  eyes,  stood  aloof  and  assured  Mandy  that  Si 
Hatch  "  had  brung  it  on  himself  all  right ! " 
Mandy,  however,  was  badly  scared.  She  felt  that 
Alfy  and  Seth  together  were  no  match  for  their 
big,  loutish  opponent.  She  screamed  at  the  top  of 
her  shrill  voice,  and  gazed  around  wildly  for  help. 

To  her  infinite  relief,  help  was  coming.  She 
saw  a  light-footed  young  farmer  running  down  the 
hill.  She  screamed  louder  than  ever.  "  Oh,  oh, 
Mr.  Barnes,  come  quick !  He's  killing  Alfy !  " 

The  other  two  boys  discreetly  took  to  their  heels. 
Si  Hatch,  who  was  finding  his  hands  much  fuller 
than  he-  expected,  was  now  eager  to  take  to  his 
heels  also.  He  struggled  to  his  feet,  Seth  and  Alfy 
clinging  so  savagely  that  he  could  not  strike  them 
with  effect.  But  the  moment  he  was  upright, 
Mandy  darted  in  and  tripped  him.  He  went  down 
with  a  curse.  And  at  this  moment  William  Barnes 
came  up,  panting  from  his  run. 


The  Meaning  of  the  Word      245 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Barnes,"  explained  Mandy,  sobbing 
with  excitement,  but  determined  to  spare  Seth's 
feelings,  "  they  stoned  our  cows,  —  an'  Seth  an' 
Alfy  tried  to  stop  them." 

"Well,"  responded  William  Barnes,  dryly,  "I 
reckon  they  succeeded."  And  he  dragged  the  pant- 
ing combatants  apart. 

The  moment  he  could  regain  his  feet,  Si  Hatch 
ducked  his  head  and  ran  like  a  hare.  This  did  not 
suit  Mr.  Barnes  at  all,  in  whose  eyes  stoning  a  new 
milch-cow  and  running  her  when  in  milk  was  a 
heinous  crime.  He  was  lithe,  and  swift  of  foot. 
Inside  of  two  score  yards  he  overtook  Si,  clutched 
him  by  the  collar,  and  shook  him  till  his  teeth 
almost  rattled.  Then  he  propelled  him  back  to 
where  Seth  and  Alfy,  with  bleeding  noses,  and 
Mandy  with  her  little  white  apron  assuaging  their 
wounds,  awaited  him.  Forcing  the  culprit,  who 
was  spitting  blood  from  his  broken  tooth,  to  con- 
front them,  he  demanded: 

"  What  d'you  mean  by  stonin'  them  cows,  Si 
Hatch?" 

"I  never!"    declared  Si,  sullenly. 

"  O-o-o-h !  "  exclaimed  the  others,  in  indignant 
chorus. 

"  Don't  you  lie  to  me,  Si !  "  said  Mr.  Barnes, 
shaking  him  again.  "  I  seen  you,  leastways,  I  seen 


246  The  Heart  That  Knows 

the  cows  a-runnin' ;  an'  I  know  Alfy  Russ  wouldn't 
'a'  run  his  own  cows." 

"  I  jest  shied  a  stun  at  'em,"  muttered  Si,  ugly 
but  frightened.  "  'N'  I  wasn't  the  only  one.  Ther' 
was  two  more,  'sides  me." 

"  I  seen  'em.  An'  I'll  remember  'em,"  answered 
Mr.  Barnes,  grimly.  "  But  you're  the  only  one  I've 
caught.  I'll  teach  you  to  stone  cows ! "  and  he 
shook  him  again.  Then,  turning  him  round,  he 
looked  at  the  young  lout's  puffy  eye  and  bleeding 
mouth,  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  I  was  goin'  to  give  you  the  all-firedest  good 
lickin'  y'ever  got  in  all  your  darn,  loafin'  life,"  he 
continued.  "  But  I  reckon  them  ere  two  kids  has 
give'  ye  all  ye  want.  I  reckon  ye  kin  git !  " 

With  a  gentle  kick  of  contempt,  he  let  him  go; 
and  Si  slunk  off,  too  cowed  to  even  mutter. 

Then  Mr.  Barnes  turned  to  Alfy  and  Seth. 

"  Ye' re  a  pair  o'  spunky  leetle  tarriers,  you  two, 
an'  no  mistake.  But  look  out  he  don't  ketch  the 
one  or  the  tother  o'  yous  alone.  He'll  be  layin'  fer 
yous.  Keep  yer  eyes  peeled,  now  mind  I  tell  yous." 

The  cows  were  half-way  home,  tonk-tonking 
leisurely  along  the  road,  and  pasturing  as  they 
went,  before  the  children  overtook  them.  The  chil- 
dren were  excited  and  elated ;  and,  during  the  telling 
of  the  story  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Russ,  Seth  was  too 
much  occupied  with  the  part  he  had  played  to  let 


The  Meaning  of  the  Word         247 

himself  dwell  on  the  humiliating  knowledge  which 
had  come  to  him.  When  he  started  up  the  lane  to 
his  own  home,  however,  it  came  over  him  with  a 
whelming  rush  of  shame  and  pain  and  doubt.  He 
didn't  know  how  to  tell  his  mother.  He  could  not 
bear  to  bring  that  look  of  piteous  fear  and  shrink- 
ing again  into  her  eyes.  Something  he  would  have 
to  tell,  because  the  marks  of  the  battle  were  upon 
him,  —  honourable  scars.  He  would  not  dare  tell 
his  mother  exactly  how  he  got  them,  hungrily  as 
he  longed  for  her  admiring  sympathy.  He  would 
put  it  all,  exclusively,  upon  the  stoning  of  Ally's 
father's  cows.  He  would  keep  locked  in  his  own 
heart  the  bitter  fact  that  he  now  knew  the  meaning 
of  the  insulting  name  he  had  been  called.  "  Come- 
by-chance,"  he  felt,  was  just  as  bad  as  that  other 
name,  which  he  would  not  bring  himself  to  even 
whisper  to  himself.  As  he  thought  of  how  his 
mother  would  wince  at  it,  how  her  face  would  flush, 
then  whiten,  how  her  kind,  dear  mouth  would 
change,  how  her  beautiful  eyes  would  contract  with 
pain,  —  all  which  things  had  been  stamped  upon  his 
heart  ineffaceably,  —  he  had  a  swift  revelation  that 
the  insults  to  himself  were  far  more  truly  insults  to 
her.  Through  him,  they  pierced  her  tender  spirit. 
It  was  upon  her,  more  than  upon  himself,  that  the 
mysterious  stigma  rested.  He  could  not  understand 
it;  but  a  passion  of  longing  to  protect  her  from 


248  The  Heart  That  Knows 

it  sprang  up  within  him  from  that  moment.  It  was 
plain  to  him  that  in  some  way  it  was  all  connected 
with  his  lack  of  a  father.  Some  day,  but  not  now, 

—  for  he  was  wiser  than  he  had  been  a  year  ago, 

—  he  would  ask  about  his  father.     To-night,  he 
would  talk  only  of  how  Si  Hatch  had  stoned  the 
cows. 

There  was  consternation  in  the  gray  cottage  when 
Seth  came  in  and  the  lamplight  fell  upon  his  dis- 
coloured little  face.  But  the  stoning  of  Alfy's  cows 
explained  everything  to  the  complete  satisfaction 
of  both  Luella  and  Mrs.  Bembridge.  And  Luella 
fell  asleep  that  night  with  no  load  of  burning  shame 
to  crush  out  her  pride  in  her  boy's  loyalty  and 
pluck. 


CHAPTER    XXIV, 
HIS  FATHER'S  NAME 

IT  was  not  till  several  weeks  later,  when  there 
was  no  longer  a  single  mark  on  his  face  to  remind 
his  mother  of  his  fight  with  Si  Hatch,  that  Seth 
mustered  up  courage  to  ask  her  about  his  father. 
He  seized  upon  a  moment  when  he  was  alone  with 
her.  The  two  were  coming  home  through  the 
spruce  pasture  from  a  visit  to  the  parsonage;  and, 
as  it  chanced,  Mrs.  Goodridge  had  been  talking 
rather  enthusiastically  about  the  doings  of  her 
grandfather,  who  had  been  a  Loyalist  leader  dur- 
ing the  American  Revolution. 

This  innocent  talk  of  grandfathers  would  have 
been  enough  to  make  Seth  think  of  fathers,  even 
if  he  had  not  been  letting  them  occupy  all  his 
thoughts  of  late. 

Luella  had  dropped  down  on  a  hillock  by  the 
path  to  pick  some  strawberries.  Seth  stood  before 
her,  regarding  her  with  a  look  of  gloomy  solici- 
tude. He  was  afraid  he  was  going  to  hurt  her.  It 

249 


250  The  Heart  That  Knows 

wrenched  his  heart  to  hurt  her ;  but  he  felt  that  he 
must  get  the  burden  off  his  mind. 

Suddenly  conscious  of  his  silence,  of  something 
unusual  in  his  attitude,  Luella  looked  up  with  an 
inquiring  smile  in  her  deep  eyes.  The  moment  he 
met  her  look  Seth  spoke. 

"  Mother,"  he  asked,  almost  in  the  tone  of  a 
demand,  "  where's  my  father?  " 

Luella  was  unprepared.  The  question  was  one 
which  she  had  for  some  years  forgotten  to  expect. 
And  just  now,  it  came  hardest.  This  was  the  very 
day  on  which,  ten  years  ago,  the  G.  G.  Goodridge 
had  borne  away  her  life.  She  gave  a  little,  startled 
cry,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  leaning  it 
far  forward  on  her  knees.  A  heavy  coil  of  her 
wonderful,  flaxen  gold  hair  fell  forward  over  her 
hands. 

Seth's  heart  smote  him  at  the  sight,  but  for  the 
moment  he  was  implacable.  He  must  be  answered. 

"  Oh,  muzz,  dear,  tell  me !  "    he  persisted. 

"  I  don't  know,  Seth,"  answered  Luella,  in  a  low 
voice,  without  lifting  her  head.  "  He  is  very  far 
away,  —  that's  all  I  know !  " 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  "   demanded  the  boy. 

"  No,  I  believe  he's  not  dead  —  except  to  us," 
replied  Luella,  hardly  above  a  whisper. 

"  How  do  you  know  he  isn't  dead,  mother  ?  " 
insisted  Seth. 


His  Father's  Name  251 

"  I  know  he's  alive,  he's  somewhere  on  this 
earth,"  —  and  then  Luella  began  to  shake  with 
fierce  sobs.  The  scent  of  lilacs,  and  salt,  and  clover 
blossoms,  and  Jim's  hair,  came  mysteriously  into 
her  nostrils.  His  bright,  adoring  eyes  seemed  to 
look  into  hers,  as  when  she  saw  him  last.  For 
Seth's  own  sake,  she  could  not  let  herself  break 
down. 

"  Oh,  Seth,  don't ! "  she  cried,  desperately, 
springing  to  her  feet,  and  dashing  her  hands  across 
her  eyes.  "  I  can't  stand  it,  just  now.  Don't  ask 
me  any  more  now,  dearie.  Come,  let's  go  home  to 
Granny,  now!  "  and  clutching  him  by  the  hand  she 
began  to  run,  as  if  she  would  escape  her  memories. 

Seth  was  torn  between  the  longing  to  spare  her 
and  the  sense  that  he  ought  to  know  more.  He 
was  on  the  point  of  asking  "What's  his  name?" 
but  shrank,  he  knew  not  why,  when  the  words  were 
fairly  on  his  tongue.  Instead,  he  queried,  half-re- 
proachfully :  "  Don't  you  think  I  ought  to  know 
about  my  father,  muzz,  dear?  When  will  you  tell 
me?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  dearie,  it's  your  right  to  know  all  I 
can  tell  you,"  answered  Luella,  her  face  flushed 
and  averted.  "  I  will  tell  you,  Seth.  But  not  to- 
day —  I  can't  tell  you  to-day." 

"  All  right,  muzz,  dear!  "  conceded  Seth.  "  But 
just  tell  me  one  thing  now  1 " 


252  The  Heart  That  Knows 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Luella,  with  a  tightening 
of  fear  at  her  heart. 

"  Is  his  name  —  Warden,  mother  ?  " 

"No!"  cried  Luella,  dropping  his  hand,  and 
hurrying  on  still  faster.  There  was  something  des- 
perate in  her  voice.  But  Seth  had  nothing  more 
to  say. 

They  hastened  onward  in  a  heavy,  dreadful 
silence,  till  the  back  of  the  barn  appeared,  gray 
through  the  dark  green  of  the  firs ;  and  in  a  minute 
more  they  came  to  the  bars. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  down  and  see  Alfy  now,  muzz, 
dear,"  said  Seth,  turning  into  the  lane. 

"  Very  well!  "  agreed  Luella,  in  a  muffled  voice. 
"  Don't  be  late  for  supper." 

Seth  went  down  the  lane  very  slowly.  He  had 
just  grasped  a  new  and  tremendous  idea,  and  was 
struggling  to  master  it.  It  was  terrible  to  him,  but 
less  so  than  if  he  had  not  been  prepared  for  it  by 
what  Si  Hatch  had  said.  Now  that  he  knew,  be- 
yond all  possibility  of  doubt,  that  Si  Hatch  had 
told  the  truth,  he  arrived  at  a  definite  idea  of  what 
a  bastard  was.  A  bastard,  he  concluded,  turning 
the  knife  in  his  soul  relentlessly,  was  one  who  was 
not  permitted  to  have  the  same  name  as  his  father, 
—  and  therefore  he  was  a  bastard.  But,  he  argued 
further,  he  would  have  borne  his  father's  name  if 
his  mother  had  borne  it.  He  began  to  wonder  what 


His  Father's  Name  253 

dreadful  name  people  called  his  mother  when  they 
got  angry  with  her.  Was  it  not  just  as  shameful 
for  her  to  not  bear  his  father's  name,  as  it  was  for 
him?  This  thought  filled  him  with  a  rage  of  pity 
for  his  mother,  so  that  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  go  in  and  ask  for  Alfy.  He  turned  from  the 
Russ's  gate  and  walked  on  up  the  road,  musing  pas- 
sionately. For  the  first  time,  the  thought  presented 
itself  that  he  was  the  victim  of  a  terrible  wrong, 
and  that  his  mother  was  the  victim  of  a  terrible 
wrong.  Then,  clearly  it  was  this  unknown  father 
who  had  done  them  both  the  wrong. 

As  the  enormity  of  the  injury,  overshadowing 
their  whole  lives,  dawned  slowly  upon  him,  he  felt 
himself  choking.  An  impulse  to  avoid  all  chance 
of  meeting  any  one  made  him  turn  off  the  road, 
climb  the  snake  fence,  and  push  his  way  up  through 
the  fir  pasture  again,  where  he  felt  sure  of  sol- 
itude. His  hands  were  clenched,  his  boyish  little 
face  was  set  hard,  his  eyes  had  an  unnatural  light 
in  them.  He  went  ahead  among  the  young  trees 
unrealizing  his  direction,  consumed  with  a  murder- 
ous craving  for  vengeance  on  this  unknown  father. 
That  such  a  woman  as  his  mother,  —  so  good,  so 
kind,  so  wise,  who  was  always  right,  —  could  by 
any  possibility  be  to  blame,  never  entered  his 
mind.  He  felt  almost  as  if  his  heart  were  going 
to  burst  in  his  bosom  from  the  impotence  of  his  pas- 


254  The  Heart  That  Knows 

sion  to  avenge  her.  His  face  worked  convulsively, 
and  he  was  quite  unaware  of  the  scratching  of 
the  hard  spruce  branches  which  dashed  across  it 
from  time  to  time  in  his  reckless  passage  among 
them. 

Presently,  as  he  crossed  the  path,  a  clear  young 
voice  called  to  him  imperatively. 

"  Seth !    Seth !    Oh,  Seth !    Stop !    I  want  you !  " 

It  was  Mandy  Russ,  tripping  along  the  path  to 
the  parsonage.  Seth  could  not  ignore  her.  Vio- 
lently controlling  his  impulse  to  dash  on  into  the 
silences,  he  stopped  and  waited  without  a  word,  for 
her  to  come  up.  She  was  a  pretty,  bright-eyed  girl, 
of  about  Seth's  height,  though  a  good  two  years  his 
senior. 

"  Oh,  Seth  —  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  gasped, 
frightened  at  the  strange  look  in  his  face. 

"  Mandy,"  he  demanded,  in  a  voice  she  did  not 
recognize  as  his,  "  who  was  my  father?  " 

The  girl  was  taken  aback.  She  looked  as  if  she 
was  going  to  cry. 

"  Why,  Seth  — "  she  stammered,  "  why,  of 
course,  Jim  Calder's  your  father,  your  mother  says. 
Of  course,  Seth !  " 

The  significance  of  that  "  of  course,"  and  "  your 
mother  says,"  was  lost  on  Seth.  The  name  was  all 
that  signified  to  him. 

"  Who's  Jim  Calder?  "  pursued  the  boy,  in  a  hard 


His  Father's  Name  255 

voice.  "  That  cross  old  woman's  son,  down  by  the 
crick?" 

"  Yes !  "  assented  Mandy. 

"Where  is  he?"  demanded  Seth. 

"  Nobody  knows  but  old  Mrs.  Calder ! "  an- 
swered Mandy,  getting  over  her  fright,  and  now 
eager  to  talk.  "  An'  she's  that  ugly  she  won't  tell 
anything  about  him,  —  not  even  to  Mr.  Goodridge. 
But  Mr.  Smith  at  the  post-office,  he  tells  when  she 
gits  letters  from  him,  —  letters  that  have  on  them 
all  kinds  o'  queer,  lovely  stamps,  from  New  Zea- 
land, an'  Singapore,  an'  Manila,  an'  Shanghai,  an' 
Japan.  My,  I'd  like  to  have  some  of  those  stamps. 
Wonder  what  she  does  with  'em !  She  gits  as  much 
as  three  an'  four  letters  a  year,  sometimes." 

"  Calder,"  muttered  Seth,  to  himself.  "  Calder." 
And  he  said  the  name  over  and  over,  as  if  accus- 
toming himself  to  it.  "  And  do  you  mean  to  say, 
Mandy,  that  cross  old  Mrs.  Calder,  with  the  great, 
long  upper  lip,  is  my  grandmother?  She  doesn't 
like  me  one  bit !  " 

"No!"  agreed  Mandy,  naively.  "But  she  jest 
hates  your  mother,  Seth." 

This  information  was  not  vital.  Seth  turned 
aside  from  it,  as  from  husks. 

"Why  —  why  did  he  go  away?"  he  demanded, 
harshly. 

This  was  to  Mandy  the  most  embarrassing  ques- 


256  The  Heart  That  Knows 

tion  he  could  have  asked.  She  knew  the  whole 
story,  and  all  the  embroidery  of  gossip  which  had 
been  added  to  it.  She  knew  that  certain  of  the 
Westcock  people,  led  by  Mrs.  Ackerley,  were  wont 
to  say  that  it  was  because  Luella's  child  was  not 
Jim  Calder's,  that  Jim  Calder  had  gone  away.  She 
had  heard  the  vague  rumour  about  Bud  Whalley. 
These  things  it  was  horrible  to  think  of  telling  Seth. 
It  was  inconceivable.  Taking  a  firm  grip  on  her- 
self she  lifted  her  head  and  looked  Seth  fair  in  the 
eyes. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  How  could  I 
know  that,  Seth?  Liker  than  not  there  ain't  no- 
body knows,  except  Jim  Calder,  an'  your  mother !  " 
Mandy  paused,  then  added,  with  eager  interest, 
"  Why  don't  you  ask  her,  Seth?  " 

"  I  will  ask  her,  some  day,"  said  the  boy,  reso- 
lutely. "  Thank  you,  Mandy,  for  what  you've  told 
me !  "  And  turning  away  abruptly,  he  marched 
off  up  the  pasture,  through  the  bushes.  Mandy 
gazed  after  him  sympathetically,  and  with  a  sudden 
feeling  that  he  had  grown  older  all  at  once.  She 
was  two  whole  years  older  than  he,  —  yet  now,  she 
suddenly  felt  herself  the  younger.  At  the  same 
time,  a  strange  little  feeling  of  what  she  called 
"  lonesomeness  "  came  over  her,  —  as  if  she  had 
been  crowded  aside,  in  Seth's  life,  by  matters  too 


His  Father's  Name  257 

weighty  for  her  to  contend  with.  She  hardly  un- 
derstood the  feeling;  but  she  could  not  help  having 
a  little  cry  over  it,  before  she  emerged  from  the 
privacy  of  the  pasture. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  SEED  OF  VENGEANCE 

FROM  this  day  onward  Seth  played  less  child- 
ishly, read  more  intently  in  the  parsonage  study, 
wandered  more  persistently  in  the  woods  or  on  the 
marshes,  or  along  the  windy  dyke-top,  alone.  He 
was  too  healthy  in  body,  too  red-blooded  and  active- 
muscled,  to  carry  his  burden  always  with  him.  But 
when  he  was  alone  in  the  woods,  and  nothing  hap- 
pening to  fix  his  attention,  —  or  if  he  was  reading, 
and  the  matter  lost  grip  upon  his  interest,  then  he 
would  begin  to  brood  over  his  mother's  wrongs, 
and  his  own.  As  he  brooded,  he  would  grow  hot 
and  sick  with  shame;  and  then,  slowly,  the  shame 
would  flame  into  hatred  of  the  remote,  unreal  fig- 
ure that  was  Jim  Calder,  his  father.  He  pictured 
this  figure  as  resembling  himself,  grown  up;  and 
sometimes  he  would  plan  minutely  for  his  ven- 
geance on  this  figure  resembling  himself.  The  pic- 
ture thus  formed  of  his  father  burned  itself  so 
deeply  into  his  mind  that  no  description  afterward 
obtained  was  able  to  efface  it. 

258 


The  Seed  of  Vengeance  259 

Time  after  time  Luella  was  on  the  point  of  vol- 
unteering him  the  answer  to  his  question  of  that 
memorable  day  in  the  pasture.  But  always,  she 
weakened  at  the  last.  Moreover,  she  presently  be- 
came convinced  that  he  knew.  And  since  his  sud- 
den maturing  she  had  acquired  a  curious  little  dread 
of  him,  a  dread  of  what  he  might  think,  or  say  to 
her.  It  was,  perhaps,  more  a  diffidence  than  a 
dread,  however,  for  more  and  more  she  realized 
the  depth  of  his  adoring  devotion  to  herself.  But 
once  in  awhile  she  surprised  in  his  eyes  a  look 
which  made  her  feel  that  she  did  not  understand 
him,  and  she  shrank  from  troubling  unnecessary 
deeps  which  she  might  not  be  able  to  fathom. 
Young  as  he  was,  she  nevertheless  felt  it  better  to 
leave  the  question  of  his  further  enlightenment  in 
his  own  hands.  She  would  hold  herself  ready  to 
answer  him  to  the  fullest  degree ;  but  she  would  not 
force  upon  him  any  information  that  he  did  not  de- 
mand. In  this  she  was  strongly  sustained  by  Mrs. 
Bembridge,  who  did  not  believe  in  "  too  much  talk," 
—  and  also,  though  with  some  hesitation,  by  the 
rector,  who  was  usually  in  favour  of  "  a  clear  un- 
derstanding "  on  any  difficult  point. 

Luella  was  now  on  very  civil  terms  with  her 
Uncle  Abner.  Ever  since  the  day  of  her  unexpected 
visit  to  his  store,  both  she  and  Mrs.  Bembridge  had 
dealt  with  him  regularly,  —  and  always  on  a  cash 


260  The  Heart  That  Knows 

basis.  This  commanded  the  old  shopkeeper's  re- 
spec  I,  and  at  length  his  esteem,  also.  Little  by  little, 
too,  the  parsonage  trade  came  back,  after  it  had 
dawned  on  Mrs.  Goodridge  that  "  Old  Abner  "  was 
no  longer  unfriendly  to  Luella.  Mr.  Baisley's  oc- 
casional efforts  to  resume  his  ancient,  half-paternal 
attitude  toward  his  niece  were  gently  repulsed;  but 
he  gradually  took  to  emphasizing  his  relationship 
to  Seth,  whose  sturdy  self-possession  and  unfailing 
respect  greatly  pleased  him.  He  fell  into  the  way 
of  making  little  presents  to  the  lad  whenever  he 
came  into  the  store.  Moreover,  he  took  pains  to 
have  something  to  say  to  both  Luella  and  Seth 
whenever  he  met  them  coming  out  of  church.  Seth 
was  unprejudiced,  having  never  been  told  how  the 
old  man  had  treated  his  mother  in  her  trouble.  He 
fell  into  an  attitude  of  friendliness,  therefore, 
dropped  into  a  habit  of  sampling  the  candy  and 
biscuits,  and  came  to  regard  his  great-uncle  as  one 
of  his  few  friends  in  the  village. 

One  day  as  he  and  his  mother  came  out  of  the 
store,  laughing  cheerfully,  with  bundles  under  their 
arms,  they  almost  ran  into  Mrs.  Ackerley,  who  was 
stalking  past  with  scornful  nose  in  air.  Mrs.  Ack- 
erley's  nose  was  always  high  in  air  as  she  passed 
Mr.  Baisley's  store.  Ever  since  the  day  when  he 
had  sued  her  for  that  ancient  bill  of  $7.63,  and 
forced  her  to  pay,  she  had  kept  telling  her  neigh- 


The  Seed  of  Vengeance  261 

hours  that  he  sold  rotten  fish,  and  trying  to  make 
them  imagine  there  was  a  bad  smell  in  front  of  the 
store.  Every  one  laughed,  and  it  pleased  Mrs.  Ack- 
erley  to  stick  to  the  fiction  till  she  came  to  believe 
it  true. 

Now,  when  she  saw  Luella  and  Luella's  son 
come  out  of  the  store  in  manifest  good-humour, 
while  she  herself  had  nothing  to  show  for  the  stand 
she  had  taken  but  an  unfortunate  lawsuit  and  con- 
siderable loss  of  prestige,  she  felt  herself  deeply 
outraged.  She  was  never  one  to  suffer  in  silence, 
or  to  content  herself  with  any  of  the  more  delicate 
modes  of  expression.  When  confronted  by  Luella 
she  started  back  dramatically,  her  face  red  and  her 
eyes  glaring,  and  drew  her  black  alpaca  skirts  close 
about  her. 

"  Git  out  o'  my  way,  you  slut ! "  she  rasped. 
"Don't  you  dare  tech  a  decent  woman!"  Then, 
keeping  her  head  turned  so  that  her  angry  little 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  Luella's  as  long  as  possible, 
she  stepped  bridling  by. 

At  this  unspeakable  insult  to  his  mother,  Seth 
felt  himself  choking.  Blindly,  not  knowing  what 
he  intended  to  do,  he  lunged  forward.  But  at  the 
same  instant  Luella's  firm  hand  fell  upon  his  shoul- 
der, holding  him  with  a  strength  of  which  he  had 
not  dreamed  her  capable;  and  he  heard  her  voice 
saying,  calmly: 


262          The  Heart  That  Knows 

"  Seth,  what  would  you  do  to  a  woman  ?  Don't 
be  troubled,  dearie.  Her  foul  tongue  cannot  hurt 
me." 

Submissive  instantly,  Seth  turned,  trembling,  and 
lifted  a  white  face  to  see  his  mother  white  also, 
but  smiling  at  him. 

"  Oh,  mother,"  he  gasped,  "  if  only  —  I  could 
kill  her!" 

For  his  sake,  Luella  had  held  herself  under  rigid 
control.  Now,  she  laughed  gently.  It  was  rather 
an  unnatural  little  laugh,  but  it  served  its  purpose 
in  helping  Seth  to  regain  his  own  composure.  She 
could  not  bear  that  the  neighbours,  who  might  have 
been  watching  the  encounter  from  their  windows, 
should  see  any  sign  of  excitement  on  the  part  of 
either  herself  or  Seth. 

"  Don't  you  give  her  a  second  thought,  boy,"  she 
said,  in  a  steady  voice.  "  Everybody  knows  that 
old  woman's  tongue,  and  nobody  cares  what  she 
says ! " 

Sefh  made  no  answer.  He  could  not  trust  him- 
self to  speak  again.  But  he  possessed  himself  of 
her  hand,  and  squeezed  it  till  it  hurt  her  cruelly. 
In  the  violence  of  his  impotent  craving  to  protect 
her  from  all  injury  and  insult,  he  found  himself 
suddenly  in  peril  of  bursting  into  tears.  He  set  his 
teeth  hard,  and  glared  unseeingly  at  the  landscape. 
Soon  his  emotion  changed  into  a  lust  for  vengeance 


The  Seed  of  Vengeance  263 

upon  the  man  who  had  brought  such  outrages  upon 
her,  —  and  in  a  moment  the  tears  within  were 
scorched  dry.  But  he  heard  his  mother  talking  to 
him,  quietly,  sweetly,  about  little  home  things  and 
plans  for  the  garden,  till,  presently,  the  storm  within 
him  grew  more  manageable.  He  tried  to  hear  what 
she  was  saying.  At  last,  she  caught  his  attention. 

"  How  is  it  you  haven't  been  trout-fishing  yet 
this  spring?"  she  asked.  "Ain't  this  good 
weather?  " 

This  was  something  requiring  definite  answer, 
and  Seth  turned  his  mind  upon  it. 

"  We  were  planning  to  fish  in  Wood  Creek  Sat- 
urday, Alfy  an'  me  —  " 

"  Alfy  an'  // "  corrected  his  mother,  smiling. 

"  Alfy  an'  I,"  assented  Seth.  "  Water's  a  little 
high,  but  it  ought  to  be  all  right  by  Saturday.  An' 
that  reminds  me,  mother.  I  wanted  to  git  some 
fish-hooks  at  the  store,  an'  a  new  line."  And  he 
halted,  as  if  he  thought  of  turning  back. 

"  There's  no  time  to  go  back,  now,"  declared  his 
mother.  "  Time  enough  to-morrow  afternoon.  I'll 
have  to  send  you  down  right  after  school,  for  some 
more  things  for  me." 

The  next  afternoon  Seth  asked  to  be  excused 
from  school  five  minutes  earlier,  so  that  neither 
Alfy  nor  any  of  the  others  should  propose  going 
down  to  the  "  Bito  "  with  him.  He  had  another 


264  The  Heart  That  Knows 

purpose  in  view,  besides  the  fish-hooks  and  his 
mother's  commissions.  When  he  ran  into  the 
store,  to  his  satisfaction  he  found  Mr.  Baisley 
alone.  After  a  word  or  two  he  went  direct  to  his 
point. 

"  Uncle  Abner,"  said  he,  with  a  gravity  that  ar- 
rested Mr.  Baisley's  attention,  "  I  came  specially 
to  ask  you  to  tell  me  something." 

Mr.  Baisley  wondered  what  was  coming.  He 
laid  down  the  box  of  fish-hooks  and  eyed  the  boy 
over  his  spectacles. 

"  What  is  it,  sonny  ?  "  he  inquired,  in  a  guarded 
voice. 

"  Tell  me  what  like  —  what  kind  of  a  man  —  is 
Jim  Calder;  my  father,  I  mean,  Uncle  Abner,"  he 
added,  hastily,  to  let  Mr.  Baisley  know  he  knew. 

Since  Mr.  Baisley  had  become  so  friendly  to 
Luella  and  to  Luella's  boy,  his  bitterness  against 
Jim,  always  sharp  enough,  had  increased  fourfold. 
Indeed,  he  had  cause  and  to  spare  for  hatred  of 
Jim  Calder.  His  thin  cheeks  grew  bricky  red 
through  his  thin  whiskers  at  Seth's  question,  and 
his  eyes  became  like  needle  points  in  his  indigna- 
tion. 

"  Your  father,  indeed !  A  nice  sort  of  a  father 
he's  been  to  you,  that  you  should  go  callin'  him 
your  '  father '  like  that !  "  he  piped,  his  voice  mount- 
ing to  an  even  harsher  shrillness  as  he  went  on. 


The  Seed  of  Vengeance  265 

Then  he  paused,  leaned  over  the  counter,  and  shook 
a  lean,  minatory  finger  at  Seth's  face.  "  Don't  you 
go  for  to  gittin'  no  sentimental  trash  into  your 
head,  Seth,"  he  went  on,  more  quietly,  but  with 
greater  intensity,  "  about  that  dog-goned  scoundrel, 
Jim  Calder.  If  you'd  knowed  the  way  he's  treated 
your  poor  mother,  you'd  bite  your  tongue  out 
sooner'n  call  him  '  my  father,'  like  that !  " 

When  Mr.  Baisley  felt  assured  of  the  righteous- 
ness of  his  wrath,  his  speech  was  not  ineffective. 

With  a  grown-up  air  which  might  have  been 
funny  had  not  the  resolve  in  his  young  face  given 
it  dignity,  Seth  held  out  his  hand  to  the  old  store- 
keeper. 

"Thank  you,  Uncle  Abner!"  said  he.  "I've 
been  thinking  that's  the  kind  of  a  man  he  must  be. 
Now  I  know.  An'  I'll  fix  him,  one  of  these  days, 
when  I  get  to  be  grown  up." 

Mr.  Baisley  grasped  the  strong,  square,  little 
hand  in  his  lean  grip,  ardently. 

"  I  might  'a'  knowed  it  of  you,  boy ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, in  proud  approval.  "  That's  the  way  to 
talk.  An'  you're  more  of  a  man  now  than  lots 
o'  men  I  know,  for  all  you're  but  a  kid."  Then  he 
lavished  upon  him  more  fish-hooks  and  lines  than 
Seth  knew  what  to  do  with. 

In  the  curious  jumble  of  sturdy  common  sense 
and  visionary  dreaming  which  so  often  constitutes 


266  The  Heart  That  Knows 

the  mind  of  an  intelligent  child,  those  fish-hooks 
had  a  kind  of  sacredness  to  Seth.  He  was  only 
eleven  years  old,  though  he  looked,  and  talked,  so 
much  older.  And  in  his  veins  was  all  the  supersti- 
tion which  the  mysterious,  fog-haunted,  tide- 
harassed  Bay  of  Fundy  breeds  in  the  folk  who 
dwell  about  her  borders.  The  fish-hooks  were  to 
him  a  pledge  of  the  secret  understanding  (secret 
by  intuition,  not  by  any  spoken  word)  between 
himself  and  his  Uncle  Abner,  in  regard  to  the  pur- 
pose lurking  in  his  heart.  There  was  just  a  sug- 
gestion of  something  sinister  in  the  old  storekeeper, 
which  enabled  him  to  touch  Seth  on  this  one  point, 
—  a  point  which  he  could  never  have  allowed  the 
sunny-tempered,  transparent  Alfy,  or  any  other  of 
his  friends,  to  even  approach.  When,  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  the  weather  proved  soft,  sweet-smell- 
ing, and  showery,  with  gleams  of  mitigated  sun- 
shine through  gray  clouds,  he  felt  that  those  hooks 
were  going  to  bring  him  luck.  He  knew,  as  the 
born  fisherman  does,  just  by  the  smell  of  the  air, 
that  the  trout  were  going  to  bite.  And  when, 
though  Alfy  had  luck  enough,  he  had  just  three 
times  Alfy's  luck,  as  to  numbers,  besides  catching 
the  big  fish  of  the  day,  —  the  biggest  he  had  ever 
caught,  —  then,  with  an  incongruity  only  possible 
to  a  child's  mind,  he  drew  grim  conclusions  as  to 
the  fortune  that  would  follow  his  far-off  purpose 


The  Seed  of  Vengeance  267 

of  revenge.  He  was  capable,  at  this  time,  of  fixing 
his  purpose  ineradicably  in  his  brain;  and  he  did 
so.  But  it  was  as  yet  little  more  than  a  sprouting 
seed.  The  deadliness  of  the  plant  which  it  would 
grow  to  be  was  not  yet  quite  real  to  him.  In  spite 
of  all  his  hours  of  bitterness,  shame,  hate,  and 
poignant  pity,  he  was  a  natural  boy,  and  he  could 
still  mix  up  his  passion  with  a  question  of  fish- 
hooks. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 
THE  FORESTERS'  PICNIC 

WHEN  Seth  had  reached  the  age  of  fifteen  he 
was  the  head  pupil  in  the  school,  though  there  were 
boys  and  girls  several  years  older.  He  looked,  in 
every  way,  not  younger  than  seventeen.  By  reason 
of  his  courage,  his  strength,  his  quickness  of  de- 
cision, and  a  reticence  which  gave  him  that  air  of 
unknown  possibilities,  so  dear  to  the  childish  or  the 
childlike  heart,  his  prestige  in  the  school  was  very 
great.  Within  that  little  world  bounded  by  the 
school-bell,  it  protected  him  completely  from  all 
reminders  of  the  stigma  upon  his  birth.  No  boy 
dared  challenge  his  prompt  fist.  As  for  the  girls, 
big  and  little,  to  most  of  them  he  was  a  sort  of  hero. 
They  admired  him  openly,  as  did  Mandy  Russ 
(Julie  had  quit  school  the  year  before),  or  in  shy 
secrecy,  like  little  Freckle-face,  toward  whom  he 
maintained  always  an  air  of  half-condescending 
protection.  The  few  girls  who  might  have  liked 
to  cross  this  current  of  tribute  to  Luella's  nameless 

268 


The  Foresters'  Picnic  269 

son  were  checked  by  a  wholesome  appreciation  of 
the  scorn  which  came  so  easily  into  his  steady,  dark 
eyes,  of  the  self-possessed  acuteness  of  his  tongue. 
Had  Seth  lived  no  life  but  that  of  the  school,  his 
bitterness  might  have  sweetened,  his  hatred  of  his 
father  faded  down,  his  purpose  of  vengeance  cooled 
for  lack  of  fuel.  But  in  the  village  world  there  was 
always  something  coming  up,  —  so  slight,  so  sub- 
tle, to  be  sure,  that  it  could  never  be  taken  notice 
of,  —  which  served  to  turn  the  knife  continually 
in  his  own  heart,  or  in  his  mother's.  His  purpose, 
therefore,  kept  growing  in  intensity,  ever  more  and 
more  biting  into  his  soul.  Of  all  his  studies,  those 
to  which  he  brought  the  keenest  zest  were  geog- 
raphy and  arithmetic.  In  studying  the  first,  he  felt 
that  he  was  somehow  doing  something  toward  find- 
ing out  where  his  father  was.  In  studying  the  sec- 
ond, he  was  learning  how  to  reach  him.  He  was- 
preparing  himself  for  the  higher  study  of  naviga- 
tion, having  made  up  his  mind  to  become  a  sailor, 
and  voyage  the  Eastern  seas  in  his  quest. 

During  this  summer,  toward  the  end  of  the  holi- 
days, the  "  Foresters  "  of  Sackville  and  Dorchester 
combined  to  hold  a  great  picnic.  It  was  an  event, 
talked  about  and  advertised  for  weeks,  and  all 
Westcock  village  —  which  lay  between  Sackville 
and  Dorchester  —  was  stirred  by  it.  It  was  held 
in  a  field  overlooking  the  upper  end  of  Partlow's 


270  The  Heart  That  Knows 

Pond,  two  or  three  miles  from  Dorchester.  In  car- 
riages, buggies,  wagons,  and  hay-carts  people  went 
to  it,  even  from  Upper  Sackville  and  the  Gran- 
tasque  Road. 

Even  Luella  went,  for  a  wonder.  Seth  insisted 
that  she  should ;  and  she  feared  that  if  she  held  back 
too  obstinately  he  would  understand  her  reasons 
too  well.  Moreover,  Mrs.  Goodridge  urged  her 
also,  and  her  urgency  took  the  very  practical  form 
of  an  invitation  to  both  Luella  and  Seth,  to  go  in 
the  rector's  two-seated  wagon.  The  rector,  who 
had  been  away  from  home  a  few  days,  taking  duty 
for  a  brother  clergyman  at  Shediac,  was  to  meet 
them  at  the  picnic  and  drive  home  with  them  that 
night  through  the  Dorchester  woods.  In  all  these 
years  Mrs.  Goodridge  had  found  no  feminine  com- 
panionship more  to  her  taste  than  that  of  the  quiet- 
voiced,  calm-eyed,  steadfast  Luella. 

It  was  a  proper  August  day,  dry  and  hot ;  but  the 
drive  through  the  deep-shadowed  Dorchester  woods 
was  pleasant,  except  where  the  unusual  traffic 
kicked  up  too  much  dust.  About  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  picnic  grounds  Mrs.  Goodridge  put 
up  at  the  farmhouse  of  a  parishioner,  where  Seth 
rubbed  down  and  foddered  the  sweating  horse. 

They  found  the  grounds  already  thronged. 
Along  the  south  side  of  the  field,  in  the  shadow  of 
a  spruce  grove,  were  ranged  white  tents,  —  chiefly 


The  Foresters'  Picnic  271 

refreshment  booths,  with  a  few  of  the  mild  enter- 
tainments usually  furnished  at  such  affairs.  Every- 
where fluttered  the  brilliancy  of  the  British  and 
Canadian  flags,  —  chiefly  Union  Jacks,  or  the  flag 
of  the  merchant  marine  with  the  Canadian  arms 
in  a  wreath  of  green  maple  leaves  on  the  broad, 
blood-red  field,  —  with  here  and  there  a  Stars  and 
Stripes,  in  token  of  brotherly  good-will.  The  lower 
and  more  level  portion  of  the  field,  toward  the  wa- 
ter, was  given  over  to  games  and  athletic  sports. 

Mrs.  Goodridge  was  not  long  on  the  grounds 
before  she  was  carried  off  by  Dorchester  friends, 
whom  she  had  not  seen  for  some  time.  Luella  and 
Seth  wandered  around  gaily  together,  —  Luella, 
fresh  and  dainty  in  her  pale  blue  dimity  frock  and 
wide,  white  hat,  looking  like  Seth's  sister  rather 
than  his  mother.  Presently  they  were  joined  by 
Jinnie  McMinn.  Then  Luella,  observing  that  Seth 
had  a  hungry  eye  on  the  sports,  gaily  drove  him 
off  to  try  his  skill. 

Though  only  sixteen,  Seth's  stature  compelled 
him  to  compete  in  the  men's  events,  rather  than  in 
those  for  "  boys  of  sixteen  and  under."  Even  if 
he  might  have  been  permitted  to  enter  in  the  boys' 
class,  he  would  have  disdained  the  easy  triumphs 
there  awaiting  him. 

Now,  however,  he  found  little  triumph  awaiting 
him.  Pitting  his  unripe  strength  against  men,  he 


272  The  Heart  That  Knows 

was  almost  inevitably  defeated;  but  his  defeats 
were  honourable,  under  the  circumstances,  and  he 
was  not  discouraged  or  ashamed.  He  entered  for 
everything,  with  the  idea  of  "  trying  himself  out," 
so  to  speak,  among  adversaries  stronger  and  more 
skilful  than  himself.  And  before  long,  though  he 
had  won  nothing,  except  third  place  in  a  hard- 
fought  quarter-mile  race,  he  began  to  attract  atten- 
tion by  his  untiring  endurance  and  pluck.  After 
having  contested  every  race,  from  the  one  hundred 
yard  dash  to  the  mile  run,  including  the  hurdle- 
race,  and  having  then  come  fourth  among  twelve 
stalwart  competitors  in  throwing  the  hammer,  he 
was  made  glad  by  a  word  of  strong  commendation 
from  the  rector,  who  had  recently  arrived  and  ha- 
stened at  once  to  watch  the  sports. 

The  rector's  eyes,  under  the  brim  of  a  broad  black 
hat,  were  dancing  with  enthusiasm.  Seth,  stripped 
to  his  short-sleeved  cotton  undershirt,  with  his  red 
and  white  suspenders  twisted  around  his  waist  for 
a  belt,  his  hair  matted  down  in  wet  strings  over  his 
forehead,  came  up  drenched  with  sweat.  The  rec- 
tor grasped  his  hand  with  a  mighty  grip. 

"  'Pon  my  word,  old  boy,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you're 
just  doing  wonders.  You're  fairly  holding  your 
own  with  some  of  the  best  athletes  of  the  country, 
and  you  not  fifteen.  It's  splendid.  It  makes  me 


The  Foresters'  Picnic  273 

feel  young  again !  "  and  he  heaved  his  deep  chest, 
burning  to  be  in  the  heat  of  it  himself. 

Seth  blushed  with  pleasure  and  pride.  He  knew 
that,  however  lenient  might  be  the  rector's  eye  in 
some  matters,  it  was  exacting  and  critical  in  a 
question  of  this  sort. 

"  But  I'm  way  past  fifteen.  I'm  nearly  sixteen, 
sir !  "  he  corrected,  deferentially. 

"  Well,  that  makes  precious  little  difference, 
when  your  opponents  are  anywhere  from  twenty  to 
thirty,"  said  the  rector.  "  I  tell  you  what,  I'm 
going  to  coach  you  up  a  little.  You  must  come 
over  before  tea,  say  Tuesday  and  Thursday  eve 
nings,  and  we'll  practise  together,  you  and  I.  Why, 
in  another  year  you'll  be  beating  us  all  out  of  our 
boots!" 

"Not  you,  sir!"  protested  Seth.  "I  guess 
you'd  have  to  teach  me  more'n  I  can  ever  learn, 
before  I'd  be  able  to  beat  you." 

"  Nonsense,  boy!  I'm  getting  too  old!  "  laughed 
the  rector,  with  a  transparent  hypocrisy.  "  Now, 
what  are  you  going  into  next  ?  " 

"The  pole  vault,  sir!"  answered  Seth.  "I've 
used  the  pole  quite  a  bit,  long  jumping;  but  I 
haven't  ever  tried  to  see  how  high  I  can  go.  I'll 
find  that  out  right  now." 

"  Well,  don't  take  too  long,  or  too  hard,  a  run," 
admonished  the  rector.  "  Trust  to  your  spring,  — 


274  The  Heart  That  Knows 

and  then  to  your  arms.  And  don't  forget  to  drop 
your  pole  in  time.  Now  I've  got  to  go,  and  see 
some  of  the  people.  If  I  stay  here  much  longer 
I  won't  be  able  to  keep  myself  out  of  it  all."  In 
spite  of  himself,  however,  he  did  stay,  long  enough 
to  see  Seth  win  second  place  in  the  pole  vault. 
Then  he  went  away  greatly  pleased,  shaping  his 
course  toward  the  main  tent  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  field,  but  stopped  every  four  or  five  paces  of 
his  progress  by  people  who  beamed  at  sight  of  him, 
and  claimed  a  hand-shake  before  he  passed. 

The  next  event  was  putting  the  stone.  At  this 
game,  which  he  had  never  practised,  Seth  soon 
found  himself  distanced,  and  dropped  out.  The 
champion  of  Westmoreland  County,  a  brawny 
Scotchman  from  Sackville  Corners,  named  MacFall, 
felt  sure  of  victory.  He  had  soon  discouraged  all 
his  opponents  but  one,  a  splendid  young  giant  who 
had  come  over  from  Truro,  in  Nova  Scotia,  for 
the  special  purpose  of  competing  in  this  event,  and 
lowering  the  crest  of  MacFall.  Between  these  two 
the  issue  hung,  on  a  matter  of  half  inches,  till  a 
superb  throw  of  the  Nova  Scotian's  put  him  a  clean 
foot  and  a  half  in  the  lead,  and  he  rested  proudly. 
Three  times  more  did  MacFall  throw,  straining 
every  muscle,  mustering  every  art,  —  but  the  ut- 
most he  could  do  was  to  cut  down  that  humiliating 


The  Foresters'  Picnic  275 

lead  by  a  scant  four  inches.  Then  he  acknowledged 
himself  beaten. 

There  was  general  chagrin  over  the  triumph  of 
an  outsider,  from  the  neighbouring  and  always 
rival  province  of  Nova  Scotia;  and  this  particular 
outsider  had  been  rather  arrogantly  confident  from 
the  first,  which  did  not  make  his  victory  any  the 
more  popular.  Suddenly  Seth,  sensitive  to  the 
feeling  that  was  seething  inarticulately  about  him, 
spoke  up  in  his  penetrating  young  voice. 

"  That's  a  mighty  fine  throw,  Mr.  Ryan.  But 
there's  some  one  on  the  grounds  here  that  can  beat 
it,  and  beat  it  easy!  " 

There  was  a  confused  murmur,  —  exclamations 
of  doubt,  derision,  question,  and  agreement. 

"  Bring  him  right  along,  then,  afore  I  git  my 
coat  on !  "  cried  Ryan,  swaggering  confidently. 

"  Wha  d'ye  mean?  "  demanded  MacFall,  incred- 
ulously. "  I'd  like  weel  to  see  that  one ! " 

"  I  mean  Parson  Goodridge !  "  announced  Seth, 
with  conviction.  An  instant  chorus  of  approval 
from  men  of  Sackville,  Westcock,  and  Dorchester 
who  stood  about,  made  it  evident  that  Seth  had 
some  foundation  for  what  he  claimed. 

"  That  bit  mon,  what  was  talking  wi'  ye  the  noo, 
to  put  the  stane  wi'  him?  "  queried  MacFall,  shak- 
ing his  head  in  disappointment. 

But  the  Nova  Scotian  was  amused. 


276  The  Heart  That  Knows 

"  I  don't  think  there's  any  parson  that  can  lick 
me  at  me  own  game!  "  said  he. 

"  You  dasen't  risk  it ! "  cried  several  voices. 
Whereupon  one  of  the  judges  interposed  hastily, 
to  prevent  hot  words. 

"  The  prize  is  yours,  and  won  with  distinction, 
Mr.  Ryan,"  said  he,  courteously.  "  And  I'm  very 
sure  we  none  of  us  grudge  you  the  honour  so 
worthily  won.  But  lest  you  should  think  any  one 
has  been  trying  to  banter  you,  I  will  say  that  if  our 
rector,  Mr.  Goodridge,  —  a  much  older  man  than 
you,  by  the  way,  —  had  been  in  this  contest,  your 
laurels  would  certainly  have  been  in  danger." 

"  Then  I  won't  take  the  prize,"  declared  the 
Nova  Scotian,  half-angry,  "  unless  I  can  have  a 
chance  at  this  wonderful  parson  of  yours.  Bring 
him  along,  says  I;  and  bring  him  quick." 

On  the  word  Seth  and  two  of  the  Sackville  men 
were  off  at  the  run  to  capture  Mr.  Goodridge.  He 
was  easily  found;  and  their  eagerness  so  prevailed 
that  he  came  with  them  before  he  knew  their 
errand.  When  they  explained  it  to  him,  however, 
hung  back,  though  his  eyes  sparkled.  It  would 
never  do,  he  protested.  And  what  could  he  do, 
against  a  famous  athlete  like  Ryan,  who  was  the 
champion  of  his  Province,  and  only  twenty-five 
years  old  When  he  was  younger,  —  well,  perhaps. 
But  at  forty-five  —  it  was  absurd!  And  thus  pro- 


The  Foresters'  Picnic  277 

testing,  he  was  led  up  and  confronted  by  the  vic- 
torious Mr.  Ryan,  who  was  duly  presented  to  him. 

The  rector  greeted  him  with  hearty  warmth  and 
a  little  congratulation  on  his  victory.  Ryan,  sur- 
veying the  figure  before  him,  of  middle  height, 
neither  broad  nor  slender,  bearded  and  grizzled, 
in  long  black  clerical  coat  and  wide-brimmed  black 
clerical  hat,  suspected  that  he  was  being  made  game 
of.  His  manner  was  suspicious,  his  return  of  the 
rector's  cordial  greeting  was  rather  curt.  Watch- 
ful eyes  noted  this,  —  and  noted,  too,  with  delight, 
that  the  rector's  manner  changed  at  once.  He  was 
nettled. 

"  That  settles  Ryan's  hash !  "  remarked  one  of 
the  Westcock  men ;  and  a  faint  murmur  of  content- 
ment went  around. 

"  I  shall  count  it  an  honour,  indeed,  to  have  a  try 
with  you,"  said  the  rector,  gravely,  taking  off  his 
coat  and  hat,  and  delivering  them  into  eager  hands. 
"  But,  of  course,  this  must  be  a  mere  friendly 
match,  for  our  own  amusement.  The  prize  is  al- 
ready yours,  —  and  well  won,  too,  I  see!"  and  he 
measured  with  practised  eye  both  the  size  of  the 
stone  and  the  distance  it  had  been  put. 

Mr.  Ryan  was  in  a  bad  humour. 

"  It's  for  the  prize,"  he  retorted,  roughly,  "  or  I 
ain't  in  it !  " 

The  rector  hesitated,  eying  him  sharply.     He 


278  The  Heart  That  Knows 

didn't  quite  like  this  brusque  young  stranger.  Then 
he  smiled  sweetly. 

"  Oh,  well,  just  as  you  wish,  of  course,"  he 
agreed  in  a  gentle  voice.  Whereupon  Seth  chuckled. 

By  this  time  word  had  gone  around  that  the 
rector  was  about  to  try  conclusions  with  the  Nova 
Scotian  champion  who  had  just  done  up  Sandy 
MacFall.  The  crowd  had  gathered  in  hastily;  and 
a  silence  of  tense  expectation  settled  down  upon 
it.  The  rector  took  off  his  waistcoat,  carefully  and 
smoothly  turned  up  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  picked 
up  the  stone  to  test  it. 

"  He  kens  what  he's  about.  He's  handled  the 
stane  afore,"  said  MacFall,  eying  him  with  con- 
centrated interest  from  under  his  thick  red  eye- 
brows. No  one  else  spoke. 

The  rector  was  now  forgetful  of  everything  but 
the  heavy  stone  poised  on  his  palm  and  the  space 
which  he  had  to  make  it  cover.  He  no  longer  saw 
the  watching  throng  of  faces.  Standing  sidewise 
to  the  mark,  and  about  seven  feet  behind  it,  he 
took  two  elastic,  swinging  side  jumps,  as  it  were, 
and  propelled  the  stone  from  the  level  of  his 
shoulder,  springing  into  the  air,  but  coming  down 
again  with  both  feet  behind  the  mark.  A  muttered 
note  thrilled  over  the  crowd,  as  the  stone  described 
its  long,  free  curve.  It  fell  exactly  in  the  mark 
made  by  the  champion. 


The  Foresters'  Picnic  279 

The  crowd  broke  into  a  cheer.  MacFall  grunted 
inarticulate  wonder  and  delight.  Ryan's  face 
changed,  and  he  eyed  the  rector  curiously.  The 
rector  stood  just  where  he  was  and  waited  for 
some  one  to  bring  back  the  stone  to  him. 

"  That  was  just  a  try,"  he  explained,  modestly, 
"  to  get  the  feeling  of  the  stone!  " 

"By  Gawd,  ye've  got  him  beat!"  burst  out 
MacFall  in  a  Highland  ecstasy.  And  nobody  even 
smiled. 

The  rector,  poising  the  stone,  now  gathered  him- 
self for  a  second  effort.  His  face  was  grim,  his 
brow  furrowed,  and  his  eyes  measured  the  distance 
shrewdly.  In  his  shirt-sleeves  he  betrayed,  to  some 
extent,  the  massive  strength  of  his  shoulders;  and 
no  one  could  misunderstand  the  great,  elastic  mus- 
cles of  his  bare  white  arms.  In  his  controlled  bal- 
ance, as  he  sprang  to  the  throw,  there  was  a  certain 
reserve  of  force  which  foretold  success.  The  stone 
seemed  to  leap  from  his  thrust  as  if  alive. 

The  throng  held  its  breath  as  the  great  missile 
curved  through  the  air.  It  fell  a  clear  two  feet 
beyond  the  Nova  Scotian's  mark.  Dorchester, 
Sackville,  and  Westcock  yelled  themselves  hoarse. 

The  young  Nova  Scotian  came  forward,  and 
scanned  the  distance  between  his  throw  and  that  of 
his  antagonist.  Very  thoughtfully  he  picked  up  the 
stone,  and  walked  back  with  it  to  the  scratch. 


280  The  Heart  That  Knows 

There  he  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Then  he  dropped 
the  stone  at  his  feet,  and  held  out  his  hand  bashfully 
to  the  rector. 

"May  I  shake  hands  again,  sir?"  he  asked. 
"  'Tain't  no  use  my  tryin',  just  to  amuse  the 
lookers-on.  I  might  better  my  throw  by  a  foot, 
maybe,  —  and  maybe  I  mightn't.  But  I  couldn't 
touch  that  throw  o'  yours,  if  I  tried  all  day." 

The  rector  shook  his  hand  warmly,  but  seemed 
disappointed.  "  Oh,  come  on !  "  he  protested,  like 
a  boy.  "  Why,  I've  only  just  got  my  coat  off !  " 
And  he  looked  around  as  if  hoping  for  another 
rival.  There  was  a  general  laugh,  and  Ryan  drew 
back. 

"  I  don't  think  you'll  get  any  one  else  to  tackle 
you,  sir !  "  said  he,  admiringly. 

"  Well,  then  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  put  on  my 
coat  again,"  sighed  the  rector,  turning  down  his 
sleeves  and  taking  the  coat  from  Seth. 

"Won't  you  enter  for  the  jumping,  sir?"  sug- 
gested young  Palmer,  of  Dorchester,  who  had  taken 
first  place  in  the  pole  vault. 

The  rector  hesitated.  Then  he  turned  away  with 
a  decision  that  was  obviously  final. 

"  No,  I'll  rest  on  my  laurels !  "  he  answered, 
positively.  "  Don't  you  young  fellows  go  thinking 
you  can  get  me  to  give  you  a  chance  to  snatch  them 


The  Foresters'  Picnic  281 

from  my  brow !  "  And  with  his  frank,  gay  laugh 
on  his  lips  he  made  his  escape  back  to  the  tents. 

For  a  little  there  was  confusion,  all  the  contest- 
ants being  so  interested  in  discussing  the  rector's 
throw  that  the  contests  could  not  go  on.  Then, 
the  judges  got  things  running  again.  Seth  kept 
on  striving,  doggedly,  in  quest  of  experience  rather 
than  of  fame;  and  acquired  many  new  "  wrinkles  " 
in  his  jumping.  At  last  he  chanced  to  notice  Sadie 
Babcock,  —  now  twenty,  and  very  much  the  young 
lady,  —  standing  near  and  watching  him.  Her 
vivid,  dark  face  and  provocative  eyes  vouchsafed 
him  a  look  of  unmistakable  approval,  and  under  the 
stimulus  of  it  he  outdid  himself,  winning  the  hop- 
step-and-jump  over  the  redoubtable  young  Palmer. 
She  saw  his  triumph,  and  smiled  upon  him  again. 
But  when  he  was  free  to  go  and  speak  to  her,  she 
had  vanished.  Where  she  had  been  he  found  in- 
stead an  old  farmer,  in  a  gray  homespun  shirt,  with 
a  coarse  country-straw  hat  surmounting  his  fringe 
of  white  hair,  and  a  short  black  clay  pipe  between 
his  teeth.  He  beamed  approvingly  on  Seth,  and 
Seth  smiled  back  upon  him  in  a  friendly  way. 

"You  clone  foine!"  said  the  old  farmer,  re- 
moving the  short  black  pipe  from  his  mouth. 
"  They  tell  me  your  name's  Seth  Warden !  " 

"Yes,  that's  my  name!"  assented  Seth,  pleas- 
antly. 


282          The  Heart  That  Knows 

"  Luelly  Warden's  boy?"  inquired  the  old 
man. 

"  The  same ! "  said  Seth,  stiffening  with  sus- 
picion, as  had  become  his  wont  at  the  least  mention 
of  his  mother's  name. 

The  old  man's  face  became  reminiscent. 

"  Many's  the  time  I've  joggled  her  on  my  knee," 
said  he.  "  Her  father's  father  an'  me,  we  was  great 
friends,  —  when  I  lived  out  Frosty  Hollow  way. 
I  hain't  seed  her  since  she  was  jest  a  long-legged 
slip,  but  I  always  said  as  how  she  were  the  makin's 
of  a  mighty  foine  woman,  said  I !  An'  she's  got  a 
mighty  foine  boy.  But  ye  don't  favour  her  none, 
my  lad !  "  And  the  old  man  scrutinized  his  face 
critically. 

Seth  was  feeling  nervous.  His  sensitiveness  was 
always  on  guard  for  a  slight,  and  this  subject  was 
bristling  with  perils.  But  the  old  man  was  kind, 
and  obviously  well-meaning.  Seth  could  not  take 
offence. 

"  I  wish  I  did  look  more  like  mother ! "  said  he, 
simply. 

"  Ye  might  be  proud  to !  "  assented  the  old  man. 
"  But  yer  father's  a  handsome  un,  too.  Queer, 
now !  Ye  don't  look  a  mite  like  him,  neether.  Not 
a  mite ! " 

Seth  got  red,  drew  himself  up,  and  looked  about 
for  some  escape.  He  could  have  run  away,  of 


The  Foresters'  Picnic  283 

course,  without  rudeness ;  but  the  subject  held  him 
balefully. 

"  But  there  ain't  no  mistakin'  whose  son  ye  be !  " 
went  on  the  old  man,  musingly.  "  Let  'em  say 
what  they  like,  the  lyin'  cats !  Lord  'a'  mercy,  what 
tongues  they  got,  some  o'  them  backbitin'  women! 
Ye're  Jim  Calder's  son,  an'  the  livin'  photygraf  of 
Jim's  grandfather,  who  was  jest  sech  another  as 
you  be,  in  his  day." 

Seth  could  not  stand  another  word.  That  phrase, 
"  Let  them  say  what  they  like,"  rang  in  his  brain. 
It  revealed  to  him  another  phase  of  the  obloquy 
under  which  his  mother  had  been  writhing  all  these 
years.  A  hate  of  his  father,  that  was  almost  mad- 
ness, suddenly  tore  at  his  heart. 

"  Excuse  me !  "  he  cried,  desperately.  "  I  must 
run !  I'm  in  the  next  event."  But  instead  of  going 
into  the  next  event,  which  was  merely  that  farce- 
comedy  called  a  "  potato-race,"  he  ran  on  down  to 
the  shore  and  plunged  his  throbbing  head  into  the 
chill  of  the  water.  After  sopping  his  face  and  eyes 
for  a  good  ten  minutes,  he  was  able  to  go  back  and 
enter  for  the  wrestling,  wherein  the  violence  of  the 
effort  served  as  an  outlet  to  his  emotion.  When 
he  had  been  thrown  twice,  —  but  only  after  a  long, 
savage,  uncompromising  struggle,  —  by  a  wiry 
little  seaman,  from  Sackville,  named  Josh  Harper, 
he  felt  once  more  his  own  master,  and  resolutely 


284  The  Heart  That  Knows 

dismissed  the  black  subject  from  his  mind,  for  the 
time.  But  he  knew  in  the  back  of  his  brain  that 
one  more  damning  count  had  been  added  to  the 
score  which  he  held  for  settlement.  He  swore  to 
himself  that  the  day  should  come  when  he  would 
see  it  paid.  Then  he  hurried  away  to  look  for  his 
mother.  He  would  not  let  any  dark  mood  of  his 
overcloud  so  rare  a  thing  as  this  her  holiday. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

INSULT 

AMONG  the  tents  Seth  looked  in  vain  for  his 
mother.  He  found,  however,  Sadie  Babcock,  radi- 
ating brightness  among  the  indeterminate  crowd. 
There  was  a  man  with  her,  of  whom  Seth  was 
vaguely  conscious;  but  Sadie  threw  him  away,  as 
it  were,  —  so  carelessly  was  it  done,  —  and  came 
forward  to  greet  Seth  and  congratulate  him  on  his 
prowess.  Sadie  had  been  away  in  the  "  States  " 
for  a  year,  and  had  not  expected  to  find  the  plucky 
little  boy  whom  she  had  half-despised  and  half- 
admired  so  soon  grown  up  into  a  handsome  and 
powerful  young  man.  Her  year  away  from  home 
had  broadened  her  appreciations,  and  she  perceived 
in  the  boy  a  kind  of  distinction  which  made  him 
better  worth  her  interest  than  any  of  the  ardent  but 
somewhat  uncouth  swains  who  were  her  regular 
admirers.  As  for  the  irregularity  of  his  birth,  she 
was  now  inclined  to  laugh  at  her  old  censorious- 
ness.  She  felt  that  that  disadvantage  was  more 
than  counterbalanced  by  the  intimacy  of  his  rela- 

285 


286  The  Heart  That  Knows 

tionship  with  the  parsonage  folk.  Being  home  only 
for  a  few  weeks'  visit,  she  decided  that  to  play  a 
little  with  this  grave,  handsome,  fearless  boy  would 
not  only  amuse  her,  but  be,  at  the  same  time,  a 
great  and  excellent  education  for  him.  Now,  tak- 
ing him  frankly  by  the  arm,  as  "  old  schoolmates, 
you  know,  Seth,"  she  led  him  off  down  the  field 
again  toward  the  other  shore  of  the  pond,  where 
there  stood  a  few  scattered  benches  overlooking  the 
deep  water. 

Immensely  flattered,  and  thrilling  strangely  un- 
der the  spell  of  Sadie's  bewildering  eyes,  Seth  was 
a  willing  captive.  He  did  not  forget,  however,  to 
keep  a  keen  lookout  for  his  mother ;  and  seeing  his 
eyes  wander,  Sadie  was  piqued. 

"Whom  are  you  looking  for?"  she  demanded, 
imperiously.  "  Is  there  any  one  you'd  rather  see 
than  me?  "  And  she  flashed  her  full  battery  upon 
him. 

The  tribute  the  boy's  eyes  paid  her  in  return  was 
sufficient,  even  for  her.  But  his  words  were  more 
qualified. 

"Yes,  one,  Sadie!"  he  answered,  with  a  little 
teasing  laugh.  "  But  only  one,"  he  hastened  to 
add.  "  I'm  looking  for  mother.  I  want  to  be  sure 
she's  having  a  real  good  time !  " 

"  That's  dear  of  you,  Seth,"  responded  Sadie, 
with  feminine  wisdom.  "  You've  got  such  a  beau- 


Insult  287 

tiful  mother,  I  don't  wonder  you  want  to  take  care 
of  her.  I  never  saw  such  hair.  Women  in  the 
States  would  give  fortunes  for  hair  like  that.  An' 
her  eyes,  —  did  you  ever  see  such  blue  ?  An'  her 
girlish  figure.  She  doesn't  look  much  older  than 
you,  Seth,  I  declare !  " 

"  When  I  was  a  little  mite  of  a  boy,"  said  the 
delighted  Seth,  "  an'  you  a  sassy  little  girl  with 
your  nose  in  the  air  an'  always  looking  out  for  a 
chance  to  snub  me,  —  even  then  I  knew  enough  to 
think  that,  next  to  mother,  you  were  the  prettiest 
thing  in  the  world.  But  I  didn't  like  you  much 
then,  Sadie!" 

"  I  was  an  impertinent  little  fool  then,  Seth," 
said  Sadie,  dropping  her  eyes  with  a  fascinating 
show  of  penitence.  Then,  lifting  them  again  im- 
mediately, she  gave  a  pretty  cry  of  delight. 

"  Oh,  there  she  is !  There  is  your  mother,  away 
down  by  the  shore,  sitting  on  the  green  bench. 
She's  all  right.  That's  the  rector  with  her,  and  Mrs. 
Goodridge.  So,  you  see,  you  don't  have  to  leave 
me,  just  yet,  —  if  you  don't  want  to,  Seth !  " 

Seth  did  not  want  to ;  and  the  two  seated  them- 
selves on  a  bench  among  some  slim  bushes,  where 
they  could  see  everything  that  went  on  around  the 
shore,  without  being  themselves  conspicuous. 

Hitherto  the  picnic  had  been  an  unqualified  suc- 
cess, with  no  smallest  touch  of  rowdyism  to  disturb 


288  The  Heart  That  Knows 

its  ordered  gaiety.  But  about  this  time  in  the  after- 
noon a  rougher  element  began  to  drift  in,  from  the 
quarries  and  the  mines  across  the  Memramcook 
River.  On  the  grounds  there  was  no  drink  sold 
stronger  than  lemon  soda  and  spruce  beer ;  but  the 
quarrymen,  equipped  with  a  generous  thirst,  found 
opportunity  to  gratify  it  generously  at  the  saloons 
of  Dorchester  Corner  on  their  way  down  to  the 
picnic.  They  were  mostly  decent  fellows,  when 
sober;  but  when  about  half  "loaded"  some  of 
them  were  not  to  be  depended  on. 

There  was  one  big  miner,  in  particular,  who  be- 
gan to  make  himself  unpopular  as  soon  as  he 
entered  the  picnic-grounds.  He  was  not  so  much 
quarrelsome,  as  too  aggressively  familiar;  and 
when  his  familiarities  were  not  well  received,  he 
grew  resentful.  He  was  particularly  anxious  for 
feminine  society,  but  by  no  means  discriminating, 
or  persuasive,  in  his  efforts  to  gain  it.  And  he 
reeked  blatantly  of  bad  gin. 

About  half  an  hour  before  Seth  discovered  his 
mother  sitting  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Goodridge,  Lu- 
ella,  who  was  just  then  wandering  about  alone, 
had  had  an  encounter  with  the  overexuberant 
miner.  Her  striking  good  looks,  her  unusual  flax- 
gold  hair,  and  her  graceful  figure  had  caught  his 
fancy  at  once.  Sidling  up  to  her  in  the  shifting 
crowd,  he  had  suddenly  slipped  a  great  arm  about 


Insult  289 

her  waist,  and  stuttered  close  at  her  ear,  with  his 
fuming  breath :  "  Come  an'  set  on  the  grass  with 
me  over  yonder,  my  daisy." 

Speechless  and  scarlet  with  indignation,  Luella 
gave  him  one  look  of  withering  scorn,  then  struck 
him  in  the  face  with  her  open  hand,  wrenched  her- 
self free,  and  walked  off  with  her  head  up.  The 
blow  was  a  smart  one.  It  left  Dolan  blinking  and 
grinning  sheepishly.  One  of  his  comrades,  who 
had  been  near  by,  fell  to  jeering  him  over  the 
sharpness  of  his  rebuff,  till  presently  his  embarrass- 
ment gave  place  to  rage. 

"  I'll  git  even  with  the  pretty  slut  for  that !  "  he 
swore.  Then,  clutching  his  jeering  comrade  by  the 
arm,  he  led  him  away  into  the  bushes,  for  another 
stiff  drink  out  of  the  flask  he  carried  in  his  pocket. 
From  this  fellow,  who  had  worked  a  few  weeks  in 
the  quarry  below  Wood  Point,  Dolan  now  acquired 
a  rank  perversion  of  Luella's  story,  which  added 
fuel  to  his  boorish  wrath.  He  felt  not  only  in- 
jured, but  outraged.  That  he,  Nick  Dolan,  should 
be  rebuffed  by  any  woman,  was  not  an  easy  thing 
for  him  to  believe;  but  to  be  flouted  by  a  hussy  like 
that,  it  was  more  than  his  drunken  dignity  was  go- 
ing to  endure.  He  fortified  himself  with  a  drink  or 
two  more,  then  started  off  to  find  Luella  again, 
vowing  he  would  teach  her  to  slap  a  decent  man's 
face! 


290          The  Heart  That  Knows 

Trembling  from  the  indignity  she  had  suffered, 
—  which  she  naturally  attributed  to  the  irregularity 
of  her  situation,  —  Luella  had  found  Mrs.  Good- 
ridge,  and  carried  her  off  to  a  secluded  seat  on  the 
other  side  of  the  pond,  to  tell  her  about  it.  Mrs. 
Goodridge,  however,  had  not  taken  the  matter  quite 
so  seriously. 

"  It's  outrageous,  of  course,  child !  "  she  said, 
soothingly.  "  Such  people  as  that  ought  to  be  put 
right  off  the  grounds.  But  what  he  did,  Luella, 
was  not  personal  to  you.  You  must  not  think  that. 
It  meant  nothing  more  than  that  he  was  drunk,  and 
at  the  same  time  not  too  drunk  to  know  the  prettiest 
woman  at  the  picnic  when  he  saw  her.  You  must 
not  think  anything  more  of  it,  child." 

And  with  this  consideration  Luella  wisely  al- 
lowed herself  to  be  consoled. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  rector  came  looking  for 
Mrs.  Goodridge,  and  seated  himself  beside  her  on 
the  bench.  When  he  heard  what  had  happened  to 
Luella  he  sprang  up,  hot  with  indignation,  and  was 
for  having  Dolan  put  off  the  grounds  at  once.  Mrs. 
Goodridge,  however,  caught  him  by  the  coat  and 
emphatically  refused  to  let  him  go.  She  hated  "  a 
fuss; "  and  she  did  not  want  attention  called  to  the 
fact  that  it  was  Luella  who  had  suffered  the  insult. 

"What  nonsense,  George!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
wish  you'd  just  stay  here  with  us,  and  let  well 


Insult  291 

enough  alone.  It's  all  over  now,  and  the  man  has 
probably  forgotten  what  he  did.  Why,  I  haven't 
seen  anything  of  you,  all  this  blessed  day.  Luella's 
none  the  worse.  And  really,  it's  her  own  fault,  as 
I've  been  telling  her,  for  looking  so  sweet  as  she 
does  to-day.  I  wonder  all  the  men  haven't  been 
trying  to  hug  her." 

The  rector  laughed,  yielded,  and  sat  down  again. 
He  had  much  to  tell  about  the  sports;  but  it  was 
Seth's  achievements  that  he  talked  about,  not  his 
own. 

A  little  later,  as  Seth  and  Sadie  Babcock,  hand 
in  hand,  peered  out  from  their  seclusion,  they  no- 
ticed two  rough-looking  men  come  up  the  path  by 
the  pond,  and  stop  at  the  seat  where  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Goodridge  and  Luella  were  sitting. 

The  bank  of  the  pond  at  this  point  was  about 
eight  feet  high  and  very  steep,  with  deep  water 
close  in  shore.  The  path  ran  parallel  to  the  water, 
within  six  or  seven  feet  of  the  edge. 

The  rector  observed  the  two  men  approaching, 
one  of  them,  apparently,  rather  drunk;  but  not 
knowing  Dolan  by  sight  he  did  not  give  them  a 
second  thought.  Mrs.  Goodridge  and  Luella,  fac- 
ing partly  the  other  way,  did  not  notice  them  at  all. 
The  path  was  only  wide  enough  for  one,  so  Dolan 
came  swaggering  on  ahead,  his  companion,  who 
was  merely  out  to  see  what  might  happen,  following 


292  The  Heart  That  Knows 

cautiously,  three  or  four  paces  in  the  rear.  He,  for 
his  part,  was  not  drunk  enough  to  be  looking  for 
trouble. 

Stopping  abruptly  in  front  of  the  green  bench, 
Dolan  seized  Luella  by  the  arm  and  dragged  her  to 
her  feet.  As  she  looked  up,  amazed,  and  saw  who 
it  was,  she  gave  a  startled  cry,  which  was  echoed 
by  Mrs.  Goodridge.  The  rector  was  on  his  feet 
at  the  same  instant. 

"  Hands  off!  "  he  ordered.  The  order  was  loud 
and  sharp,  like  a  gunshot;  and  its  authority  was  so 
convincing  that  Dolan  obeyed  instinctively,  on  the 
instant,  and  released  Luella's  arm.  Looking  around, 
however,  and  perceiving  that  the  order  had  come 
from  a  man  very  much  smaller  than  himself,  and  in 
the  peaceful  garb  of  the  Church,  he  snarled, 
"  Garrrn !  You  go  to  hell !  "  and  turned  his  atten- 
tion again  to  Luella. 

"  So  ye  think  ye  kin  slap  my  face,  like  a  decent 
woman,  eh?  "  he  stormed,  clutching  her  arm  again, 
half-amorous,  half-angry.  "  Ye  little  tow-headed 
slut!  I'll  —  " 

But  the  sentence  ended  inarticulately.  The  rec- 
tor's fist  shot  forth  like  a  catapult,  caught  the  ruf- 
fian square  in  the  right  eye.  and  sent  him  staggering 
half-way  to  the  edge  of  the  bank.  Then  the  rector's 
left  hand  caught  him  in  the  throat  of  his  collar, 
swinging  him  around ;  the  right  gripped  him  by  the 


Insult  293 

waist-band ;  and  in  a  second  he  was  hurled  headlong 
out  into  the  pond. 

His  companion  ran  up,  aghast. 

"  He  can't  swim,  sir.  Nick  can't  swim  a  stroke, 
an'  no  more  kin  I !  "  he  cried. 

It  was  plain  he  spoke  the  truth,  from  the  aimless 
fashion  in  which  the  big  miner  was  beating  the 
water. 

"  Can't  swim !  "  exclaimed  the  rector,  in  a  tone 
of  angry  impatience.  "  What  a  confounded  nui- 
sance! "  But  even  as  he  spoke  he  was  flinging  off 
his  long  coat  and  kicking  off  his  low  summer  shoes. 
The  next  moment,  forgetting  his  broad  hat,  he  had 
plunged  in,  and  was  circling  warily  around  the 
wildly  clutching  Dolan.  Excited,  but  not  alarmed 
(such  was  their  confidence  in  the  rector's  ability  to 
do  what  he  started  out  to  do),  Mrs.  Goodridge  and 
Luella  had  rushed  to  the  edge  of  the  bank. 

"  Look  out  he  doesn't  grab  you,  George,"  cau- 
tioned Mrs.  Goodridge. 

The  next  moment  the  rector  saw  his  chance. 
With  his  left  hand  he  seized  Dolan  by  the  back 
of  the  collar,  with  a  grip  so  inflexible  that  the  fel- 
low could  not  turn.  Pulling  him  backwards,  the 
rector  towed  him  slowly  ashore,  and  jerked  him 
roughly  out  upon  the  grass. 

"  There !  "  said  the  rector,  brusquely.    "  Perhaps 


294  The  Heart  That  Knows 

that  will  do  you  good.  Now  clear  out,  and  be 
thankful  I  don't  have  you  locked  up." 

Thoroughly  sobered,  Dolan  rose  to  his  feet, 
shook  himself,  and  looked  at  his  conqueror  with 
unbounded  respect. 

"  Jiminy,  parson !  "  he  exclaimed,  his  oath  mod- 
ulated to  his  idea  of  what  would  suit  the  cloth. 
"  But  ye' re  a  hot  one !  I  ax  yer  pardon,  I  do,  — 
an'  I  ax  the  young  lady's  pardon !  " 

Then  turning  fiercely  on  his  companion,  he 
roared,  "  Jeph,  ye  fool,  what're  ye  gawkin'  at  ?  Git 
a  pole,  quick,  an'  fish  out  that  there  hat  fer  his 
Reverence,  er  I'll  lick  the  hide  often  ye." 

He  glared  at  Jeph  till  the  latter  hurried  off  to  do 
his  bidding.  Then  he  picked  up  his  own  hat,  — 
which  had  flown  off  when  the  rector  struck  him,  — 
made  a  sweeping  bow  with  it  to  the  ladies,  and 
strode  off  as  steadily  as  if  he  had  not  been  drunk 
for  a  week. 

Meanwhile  Seth  and  Sadie  had  arrived,  exultant 
but  solicitous;  and  the  crowds  were  hurrying  up 
from  all  over  the  field. 

"  What  was  it  all  about,  mother?  "  asked  Seth,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  I  saw  him  grab  your  arm.  Did  he 
hurt  you?  " 

Luella's  horror  at  the  thought  of  Seth  learning 
just  what  had  been  said  to  her,  and  understanding 
all  that  it  implied,  steadied  her  shaken  nerves  like  a 


Insult  295 

plunge  into  ice-water.  With  a  masterly  self-con- 
trol she  smiled  upon  him  as  if  it  was  all  a  casual 
matter.  But  to  save  her  the  embarrassment  of  an 
explanation,  Mrs.  Goodridge  intervened. 

"  He  was  drunk,  and  insulted  your  mother 
grossly,"  she  said,  with  a  tranquil  face.  "  So,  of 
course,  Mr.  Goodridge  had  to  thrash  him,  or  do 
something ;  and  it  was  kinder  just  to  throw  him  into 
the  pond.  Mr.  Goodridge  thought,  of  course,  he 
could  swim." 

"  The  man  was  very  drunk,  or  he  would 
never  have  said  it !  "  explained  the  rector,  rather 
blunderingly,  as  he  squeezed  the  water  out  of  his 
clothes.  "  The  ducking  sobered  him ;  and  when  he's 
sober  he  seems  to  be  a  decent  enough  fellow.  He 
was  penitent,  and  apologized  to  your  mother  very 
nicely  —  didn't  he,  Luella  ?  I  must  look  that  man 
up.  —  Oh,  thank  you !  I'm  sorry  to  have  given  you 
so  much  trouble.  Thank  you  very  much !  "  And  he 
smilingly  accepted  the  dripping  hat  which  the  man 
called  "  Jeph  "  had  fished  out  of  the  pond  for  him. 
"  By  the  way,"  he  continued,  holding  out  his  hand 
to  the  miner,  "  I  wish  you'd  bring  that  big  friend 
of  yours  over  to  Dorchester  church  next  Sunday 
morning.  I'd  like  to  see  you  both  after  service. 
He  seems  a  manly  chap.  Tell  him  I  like  a  man 
that's  not  ashamed  to  say  he's  sorry,  when  he's 
done  wrong." 


296  The  Heart  That  Knows 

The  little  party  was  now  surrounded  by  an  eager 
and  gaping  crowd;  and  Jeph  was  embarrassed. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  answered,  bowing  two  or  three 
times.  "  I  reckon  as  how  it'll  be  Nick  as'll  bring 
me,  sir,  'stead  o'  me  bringin'  him.  He's  never  met 
a  man  afore  as  could  handle  him  like  you  done ;  an' 
he'll  be  thinkin'  as  how  you're  a  mighty  fine  par- 
son." 

"Well,"  said  the  rector,  "tell  him  I'll  be  very 
glad  to  see  him,  —  and  you,  too." 

Whereupon,  feeling  himself  dismissed,  Jeph  re- 
tired with  an  air  of  great  relief. 

"  Now,  George,"  said  Mrs.  Goodridge,  with  de- 
cision, to  divert  attention  from  the  cause  of  the 
disturbance,  "  you  must  go  right  up  to  Judge  Har- 
rington's and  get  some  dry  clothes  on.  You'll  catch 
your  death  of  cold." 

"  Nonsense,  dear !  I'll  not  do  anything  of  the 
sort,"  replied  the  rector.  "  What  do  you  think  I'd 
look  like  in  the  Judge's  clothes  ?  I'll  be  dry  as  a 
bone  in  no  time.  Why,  I  wasn't  in  the  water  long, 
anyway.  Now  I  must  run  off.  There  are  some 
people  here  I  want  to  speak  to." 

"  Of  course,  George,  you  will  have  your  own 
way,"  retorted  Mrs.  Goodridge,  with  some  warmth, 
as  the  rector  made  off  through  the  crowd.  "  Don't 
blame  me  if  you're  sick  to-morrow !  "  But  as  he 


Insult  297 

was  already  out  of  ear-shot  these  last  words  seemed 
rather  to  be  directed  at  Luella. 

"  Isn't  he  awful  hard  to  take  care  of?  "  exclaimed 
Luella,  smiling  sympathetically,  while  she  clung, 
rather  tremulously,  to  Seth's  arm.  Then  Sadie 
Babcock,  with  a  tact  which  Luella  gratefully  recog- 
nized, came  to  the  rescue  with  a  vivacious,  highly 
picturesque  account  of  the  rector's  achievement  in 
putting  the  stone,  and  the  tension  was  gradually 
relieved. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

SETH    GOES   TO   SEA 

SETH  needed  no  telling,  in  order  to  understand 
the  nature  of  the  insult  to  his  mother,  which  Mr. 
Goodridge  had  so  swiftly  chastised.  He  asked  no 
questions  about  it;  but  all  the  more,  for  this  silence, 
it  burned  within  him.  At  the  moment  when  the 
thing  happened  his  boyish  heart  had  been  melting 
rapidly  under  the  magic  warmth  of  Sadie's  wiles. 
Now,  however,  the  girl's  innocent  spell  was  broken. 
He  knew  that  she  would  never  be  able  to  make  him 
forget  the  one  grim  purpose  to  which  he  had  de- 
voted himself.  He  liked  her.  His  eyes  might  be 
intoxicated  by  her  wild  beauty.  His  blood  might 
thrill  to  her  caressing  touch.  He  might  seek  her 
companionship,  —  but  it  would  be  primarily  that 
she  might  make  his  days  pass  more  quickly.  There 
could  be  but  one  prime  object  in  his  life,  —  to 
avenge  his  mother's  wrongs.  All  else  was  sec- 
ondary and  incidental.  This  attitude  made  him 
doubly  interesting  to  Sadie,  who  was  piqued  into 
exercising  all  her  lively  charms  upon  him.  But 
when  she  went  back  to  "  the  States  "  again,  in  Sep- 

298 


Seth  Goes  to  Sea  299 

tember,  she  had  to  acknowledge  to  herself  that  the 
boy  was  the  victor,  —  that  he  had  held  a  secret 
citadel  in  his  heart  against  her,  so  securely  that  she 
had  never  been  able  even  to  guess  what  was  in  it. 
She  had  planned  to  amuse  herself  by  making  a  boy 
fall  in  love  with  her.  But  she  went  away  with  the 
chagrin  of  realizing  that  it  was  she,  for  all  her 
twenty  years  and  worldly  wisdom,  whose  heart  had 
been  most  troubled.  She  had  been  at  pains  to  con- 
ciliate Luella,  who  had  proved  easily  —  perhaps 
amusedly  —  gracious;  and  with  a  little  touch  of 
self-scorn  she  yielded,  just  before  leaving,  to  the 
sentimental  impulse  to  send  Luella  a  basket  of 
flowers,  with  a  farewell  note.  Secure  in  an  intui- 
tion that  Seth  was  not  in  any  grave  danger  of 
heart-break,  Luella  acknowledged  the  tribute  with  a 
serene  complacency;  and  Sadie  went  away  full  of 
thoughts  —  which  she  knew  to  be  foolish  —  of 
the  net  she  would  weave  around  Seth  when  the  next 
summer  should  bring  her  again  to  the  banks  of 
Tantramar. 

The  next  summer,  however,  did  not  bring  her  to 
the  green  plains  of  Tantramar,  but  kept  her  lan- 
guishing, instead,  in  the  high,  white  wards  of  a 
New  England  hospital.  And  when  again  her  home- 
sick eyes  beheld  the  yellow  foam  and  tumult  of  the 
"  Bito,"  Seth  was  just  about  sailing  on  his  first  voy- 
age. She  could  do  nothing  more  than  see  him  for 


3OO  The  Heart  That  Knows 

greeting  and  farewell,  and  flash  upon  him  the  pic- 
ture of  a  vivid,  piquing  face  and  dark  eyes  grown 
wistful,  which  she  hoped  he  might  bear  with  him  in 
his  memory. 

It  was  on  his  sixteenth  birthday,  that  Seth  con- 
fided to  his  mother  his  intention  of  going  to  sea. 
Luella  was  bitterly  disappointed.  She  had  been 
cherishing  an  ardent  hope  that  he  would  go  to  the 
academy  at  Sackville,  attend  college,  either  there, 
at  Mount  Allison  University,  or  at  the  University 
of  New  Brunswick  at  Fredericton,  and  take  up  one 
of  the  learned  professions.  She  had  been  saving 
carefully  from  her  little  income  all  these  sixteen 
years,  with  a  view  to  giving  her  boy  an  educa- 
tion. And  because  of  Seth's  reticence,  she  had  been 
flattering  herself  that  he  had  escaped  the  call  of  the 
sea.  She  tried,  passionately,  and  at  last  with  tears, 
to  dissuade  him,  never  guessing  that  the  lure  which 
was  in  his  blood  by  inheritance  was  the  least  of  the 
forces  which  were  compelling  him.  When,  how- 
ever, she  found  him  inflexible,  she  dried  her  eyes 
and  accepted  the  situation  once  and  for  all,  with 
that  scorn  of  all  petty  nagging  which  was  part  of 
her  strength  and  charm.  The  point  settled,  Seth 
knew  she  would  never  keep  fretting  at  him  about  it ; 
and,  boy  though  he  was,  he  had  seen  enough  of 
women  folk,  old  and  young,  to  appreciate  his  moth- 
er's rare  distinction  in  that  regard. 


Seth  Goes  to  Sea  301 

"  Don't  think  I  don't  understand  you,  dearie," 
she  said,  at  last,  with  a  long  sigh.  "  I  know  well 
enough  it's  inevitable  as  fate.  It's  in  my  blood, 
too,  —  so  that  even  I  long  to  roam  a  bit  before  I 
get  too  old  to  enjoy  it.  And  God  knows  it's  in 
your  blood,  still  worse,  for  your  father's  fathers 
were  roamers  for  generations  back."  Here  she 
watched  Seth's  face  closely,  for  this  was  the  first 
time  she  had  voluntarily  referred  to  his  father;  but 
Seth  gave  no  sign  that  she  had  said  anything 
unusual. 

"  Yes,  Muzz  dear,"  he  answered,  "  it's  in  my 
blood,  an'  it's  got  to  come  out.  It  breaks  my  heart 
to  think  of  leaving  you,  —  and  to  break  up  all  the 
plans  you  had  made  for  me.  But  those  plans  — 
it  just  chokes  me  to  think  of  them.  After  I've  had 
my  fill  of  the  sea,  though,  an'  after  I've  seen  the 
world  a  bit,  it'll  let  go  of  me,  likely.  Look  at  Cap- 
tain Barnes  here,  an'  Jerry  Smith,  an'  Jim-Ed 
Coxen,  —  they  got  their  fill  of  it,  an'  see  how 
they've  settled  down,  so  there's  no  better  farmers 
in  Westcock.  You  wouldn't  think  they'd  ever  been 
further  than  the  Joggins,  —  yet  they  say  Jim-Ed 
Coxen  ran  a  hotel  in  Singapore  for  two  years  an' 
can  talk  Malay  like  a  native." 

Here  Mrs.  Bembridge  —  who  throughout  the 
whole  conversation  had  been  knitting  on  a  new 
majenta  sontag,  and  apparently  paying  no  heed  — 


3O2  The  Heart  That  Knows 

laid  down  her  big  wooden  needles,  hitched  her 
chair  nearer  the  stove,  and  broke  in. 

"  Fancy  yer  ever  thinkin',  Luelly,  that  ye  could 
keep  that  young  hawk  o'  yourn  from  flyin',  when 
his  wings  got  strong!  I  knowed  Tantramar'ld 
never  hold  him,  —  an'  all  New  Brunswick' Id  be  a 
cage  too  narrer  for  his  wings.  We'll  have  to  let 
him  go,  Sweetie,  —  tho'  Lord,  Lord,  it'll  be  lone- 
some without  him !  "  And  she  brusquely  dashed 
off  two  big  tears  which  were  just  starting  down 
her  nose. 

Seth  jumped  up,  ran  around  to  her  chair,  and 
gave  her  a  strenuous  hug. 

"  But  I'm  not  going  yet,  Granny!  "  said  he  dep- 
recatingly.  "  And  you  bet,  I'm  not  going  for  long, 
when  I  do  go.  I  couldn't  stop  away  long  from  you 
an'  mother.  An'  besides,  when  I'm  home  I'm  going 
to  make  long,  long  visits,  studying,  you  know,  for 
I  want  to  get  to  be  captain  right  away  quick,  while 
I'm  still  real  young.  Oh,  I'm  going  to  do  a  lot  of 
things,  Granny,  as  soon  as  I'm  captain.  But  first 
thing  I  do,  Muzz,  when  I've  got  my  own  ship,  will 
be  to  take  you  all  'round  the  world.  You  shall  go 
roaming  —  away  beyond  the  tides  of  Tantramar !  " 

"  And  will  you  take  Sadie  Babcock,  too  ?  "  asked 
Luella,  with  a  teasing  smile  which  disguised  the 
seriousness  of  her  inquiry. 

"  Oh,    I'm    not    thinking    any    about    Sadie ! " 


Seth  Goes  to  Sea  303 

laughed  Seth,  without  embarrassment.  The  ques- 
tion, however,  did  set  him  thinking  of  her.  He 
pictured  her  dark  radiance  beside  his  mother's  cool, 
fresh,  Northern  colouring,  tranquil  eyes  of  deep 
azure,  and  classic  mould  of  face  and  head,  which  re- 
minded him  of  pictures  in  the  old  copy  of  Lem- 
priere's  Classical  Dictionary  in  the  rector's  library. 
The  keen  but  admiring  scrutiny  which  he  was  be- 
stowing upon  her  features  brought  a  little  flush  to 
Luella's  face,  and  she  demanded,  laughingly: 

"  Well,  if  you're  not  thinking  about  Sadie,  what 
is  it  you  are  thinking  about  your  poor  old  mother, 
I'd  like  to  know?" 

For  answer,  Seth  turned  to  Mrs.  Bembridge. 

"  Granny,"  said  he,  "  do  you  think  any  ship 
would  be  safe,  with  two  such  beauties  aboard  her 
as  mother  an'  Sadie  ?  We'd  have  to  carry  big  guns, 
to  keep  off  the  pirates.  No,  Muzz,  I  guess  you'd 
be  just  about  all  I  could  take  proper  care  of !  " 

Thus  it  was  settled  that  Seth  was  going  to  sea, 
—  but  not  for  another  year.  He  left  school,  sent 
to  St.  John  for  the  latest  text-books  in  navigation, 
and  buckled  down  to  hard  study.  When  he  got  into 
difficulties  with  problems  yet  too  complex  for  his 
knowledge,  he  went  confidently  to  the  rector  for  en- 
lightenment; and  presently  the  rector  was  giving 
him  a  lesson  once  a  week,  helping  him  just  as  he 
had  helped  his  father  before  him.  The  closeness  of 


304  The  Heart  That  Knows 

the  parallel  gave  Luella  a  tightening  of  the  heart, 
and  was  a  matter  of  discreet  comment  at  the  par- 
sonage. But  neither  Luella  nor  Mrs.  Bembridge, 
neither  the  rector  nor  Mrs.  Goodridge,  nor  Mary 
Dugan,  allowed  any  hint  of  it  to  drop  in  Seth's 
hearing.  They  all  felt  that  he  might  resent  it.  This 
reserve  was  difficult  for  no  one  but  the  rector, 
whose  natural  candour  would  have  led  him  to  speak 
of  it  at  about  every  other  lesson ;  for  if  he  had  found 
Jim  Calder  a  ready  pupil,  he  found  Seth  a  still  read- 
ier one,  and  felt  continually  prompted  to  tell  him 
so.  Late  the  following  summer,  when  Seth  was 
nearing  eighteen,  he  sailed  on  his  first  voyage.  It 
was  a  comparatively  short  one,  on  a  2OO-ton  brig 
called  the  Dolphin.  The  Dolphin  was  bound  for 
the  West  Indies  and  Guiana,  and  in  December  she 
got  back  to  St.  John  with  a  cargo  of  molasses, 
rum,  and  mahogany.  Seth  was  home  in  Westcock 
in  time  for  Christmas,  his  face  deeply  bronzed,  his 
tall  frame  considerably  filled  out.  All  through  the 
stormy  Tantramar  winter,  when  the  roads  were 
deep  with  drifts,  and  the  scattered  houses  isles  of 
warmth  and  life  in  the  dead,  bright  wilderness  of 
snow,  he  stayed  at  home,  studying,  brooding, 
tramping  the  muffled  woods  on  his  snow-shoes.  He 
was  restless;  and  with  a  pang  Luella  told  herself 
that  the  lure  of  the  sea  had  laid  fast  hold  upon 
him.  In  this  she  misunderstood  him,  however.  On 


Seth  Goes  to  Sea  305 

the  sea,  in  night  watches,  and  when  the  winds  raved 
in  the  ropes,  he  had  seemed  to  come  nearer  to  dis- 
covering his  father,  and  his  long-cherished  dream 
of  vengeance  had  grown  real.  It  had  become  a 
living  lust.  He  felt  that  he  had  now  actually  set 
his  hand  to  the  deadly  task  to  which,  under  all  his 
boyish  plays  and  interests,  he  had  been  dedicated 
since  that  day  in  the  fir  pasture.  From  now  on,  he 
told  himself,  there  was  to  be  no  halting,  no  going 
back.  Not  until  he  had  secured  a  berth  on  a  Dor- 
chester ship,  of  Hickman's,  which  was  loading 
deals  in  St.  John  for  the  long  voyage  round  the 
Horn  to  Calcutta,  could  he  be  at  ease  in  his  heart. 
Then,  for  the  fortnight  that  remained  to  him  before 
leaving  to  join  his  ship  at  St.  John,  he  suddenly 
brightened,  and  made  a  spell  of  summer  sunshine 
for  his  mother  and  Mrs.  Bembridge  in  the  old  gray 
house  in  the  fields.  He  felt  that  now,  at  last,  he 
was  fairly  on  the  way  to  his  vengeance.  This  idea, 
curiously  enough,  instead  of  making  him  more  som- 
bre, gave  him  a  sense  as  of  relief  from  a  crushing 
burden.  He  grew  more  boyish,  more  gaily  care-free 
and  natural  than  he  had  been  for  years.  With 
something  that  seemed  like  a  near  prorr  ise  of  fulfil- 
ment, his  deadly  purpose  ceased  to  urge  him  for 
awhile,  and  his  heart  was  able  to  grasp  a  little  rest. 
Those  two  we^ks  were  a  happy  time  for  Luella,  ex- 
cept for  the  pang  it  gave  her  to  think  that  the  pros- 


306          The  Heart  That  Knows 

pect  of  getting  away  again  was  able  to  make  him  so 
glad.  As  for  Mrs.  Bembridge,  she  felt  a  touch  of 
grievance  at  his  frank  gaiety.  "  Ef  he's  so  mighty 
glad  to  git  quit  of  us,"  she  grumbled,  strictly  to  her- 
self, "  he  might  have  the  decency  not  to  shout  it 
to  all  Westcock !  " 

The  ship  which  carried  Seth  from  St.  John  was  a 
fine  barque,  named  the  Silver  Queen,  one  of  a  fleet 
of  Queens,  —  Fundy  Queen,  Sackville  Queen,  Dor- 
chester Queen,  Hopewell  Queen,  —  built  in  Dor- 
chester, registered  in  Dorchester,  and  owned  by  the 
Hickmans.  Her  captain  was  William  Estabrooks, 
one  of  the  Sackville  Estabrookses,  and  a  member  of 
Mr.  Goodridge's  congregation.  Seth  had  been 
strongly  commended  to  him  by  the  rector,  so  he 
kept  an  interested  eye  on  the  lad.  Beyond  this, 
however, —  which  might  be  of  service  to  him  in  case 
of  any  unexpected  need,  —  Seth  had  no  favours, 
no  privileges,  not  shared  by  all  the  other  hands 
"  before  the  mast."  Nor  did  he  want  either  favour 
or  privilege.  There  was  no  particular  hardship  in 
faring  as  a  mere  "  able-bodied  seaman  "  on  one 
of  these  well-built,  well-found,  well-sailed  Bay  of 
Fundy  ships. 

The  voyage,  from  Seth's  point  of  view,  —  since 
he  already  had  visited  the  purple  seas  of  the  tropics, 
watched  the  palms  wave  against  the  turquoise  sky, 
and  thrilled  to  the  rosy  glory  of  the  oleander  blooms 


Seth  Goes  to  Sea  307 

against  white,  sun-lit  walls,  —  was  comparatively 
uneventful.  Off  Hatteras  they  encountered  a  blow 
which  taught  Seth  what  a  storm  at  sea  was  really 
like,  and  drove  the  Silver  Queen  about  five  days 
off  her  course.  But  Captain  Estabrooks  knew  how 
to  handle  his  ship,  and  the  ship  was  staunch,  and 
there  was  at  no  time  any  imminent  peril.  They 
touched  at  Barbados  for  fresh  water.  About  ten 
degrees  south  of  the  equator  they  ran  into  a  series 
of  dead  calms,  wherein  they  would  sizzle  for  a 
week  at  a  time,  with  slatting  sails  and  groaning 
spars,  rolling  like  a  log  on  an  oily  swell.  Then, 
with  the  decks  blistering  their  feet,  the  crew  would 
curse  in  complicated,  ingenious,  hair-raising  oaths, 
and  express  themselves  ready  to  sell  their  immortal 
souls  for  a  sniff  of  Fundy  fog.  In  the  struggle  to 
round  the  Horn  they  were  driven  far  south,  buf- 
feted by  swooping  gales,  and  staggering  amid  the 
mountainous  leaden  seas,  roaring  up  from  the  Ant- 
arctic, for  nearly  six  weeks.  Then,  at  last,  the 
great  Cape  relented  and  let  them  pass.  With  half 
a  gale  behind  them,  and  a  clear  sky  overhead,  they 
ran  up  the  Pacific  coast  and  shaped  their  course 
across  the  vast  for  India.  Thenceforward  winds 
favoured  them,  and  without  delay  or  misadventure 
they  raced  free  up  the  Bay  of  Bengal  and  made  for 
the  mouth  of  the  Hoogly. 

At  Calcutta  the  Silver  Queen  got  a  cargo  of  tea, 


308  The  Heart  That  Knows 

spices,  sandalwood,  and  Indian  rugs  and  stuffs,  for 
Liverpool.  But  here  Seth  parted  company  with 
her.  He  had  shipped  for  the  voyage  only.  Cap- 
tain Estabrooks  tried  ,to  induce  him  to  sign  again, 
saying  that  from  Liverpool  he  would  probably  get 
freight  for  St.  John.  But  this  was  no  part  of  Seth's 
plan,  and  he  was  obdurate.  He  explained  to  the 
captain  that  he  was  resolved  to  see  the  East  thor- 
oughly before  turning  his  face  again  toward  Tan- 
tramar.  He  got  his  discharge,  with  a  strong  letter 
from  the  captain  to  help  him  in  case  of  emergency, 
and  disappeared  into  the  seething,  heated  hive  of 
humanity  known  as  Calcutta. 

Taking  refuge  in  a  Sailors'  Home,  where  he  could 
lodge  and  board  for  a  modest  sum,  without  being 
cheated  or  robbed,  he  devoted  himself  for  a  month 
to  making  inquiries  for  one  Jim  Calder.  He  tried 
all  the  sailors'  boarding-houses,  the  quays,  the  ships 
themselves.  As  there  had  been  no  such  person  as 
Jim  Calder,  however,  for  about  seventeen  years, 
his  inquiry  was  not  fruitful  of  result.  Had  he 
asked  for  news  of  one  Jim  Callahan,  on  the  other 
hand,  his  search  would  not  have  gone  long  unre- 
warded. There  were  many  in  Calcutta  who  knew 
the  moody,  reckless,  popular  Jim  Callahan. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    MATE   OF   THE    MARY   OF   TECK 

SATISFIED  that  it  was  useless  to  make  further 
search  in  Calcutta,  Seth  decided  to  try  Singapore 
next,  and  then  work  his  way  around  to  Shanghai, 
Hongkong,  and  Yokohama.  He  had  no  difficulty 
in  finding  a  ship.  Young,  strong,  alert,  educated 
far  beyond  the  standard  of  an  "  A.  B.,"  he  belonged 
to  a  class  of  sailors  for  whom  the  demand  is  always 
far  in  excess  of  the  supply.  Moreover,  when  it  was 
known  that  he  was  a  Canadian,  the  fact  counted 
heavily  for  him,  the  sailors  of  Nova  Scotia  and 
New  Brunswick  having  a  reputation  among  ship- 
masters all  over  the  world  for  steadiness  and  capa- 
bility. Seth  was  in  no  hurry  to  sign  papers.  And 
his  deliberation  was  most  unexpectedly  rewarded. 
A  huge  East-Indiaman,  from  Bristol,  with  a  shrewd- 
eyed  Scotchman  for  captain,  and  an  inharmonious 
crew  of  Lascars  and  Finns,  was  in  need  of  a  quar- 
termaster. Captain  Duff  was  a  reader  of  men,  and 
cared  more  for  what  he  read  in  their  faces  than  in 
their  papers.  Meeting  the  clean-cut,  intelligent- 
looking  young  sailor  on  the  quays,  he  fell  to  talking 

309 


310  The  Heart  That  Knows 

with  him.  Seth's  speech  and  manner  were  a  testi- 
monial of  the  highest  class.  A  few  searching  ques- 
tions revealed  his  schooling  to  Captain  Duff's  satis- 
faction. The  tone  of  his  discharge  from  the  Silver 
Queen  was  guarantee,  if  the  keen  Scotchman  had 
needed  any,  as  to  his  character.  In  an  amazingly 
short  time  Seth  found  himself  signing  papers  as 
quartermaster,  no  less,  on  the  crack  ship  Mary  of 
Teck.  Elated  beyond  measure,  he  could  not  wait 
till  he  got  back  to  the  Sailors'  Home,  but  had  to 
stop  in  at  a  little  shop  on  the  way,  and  write  a  line 
to  his  mother,  telling  her  of  his  great  good  fortune. 

Though  the  Mary  of  Teck  was  not  to  sail  for  two 
or  three  weeks,  the  new  quartermaster's  duties  be- 
gan at  once,  so  Seth  hastened  to  get  his  chest  aboard 
that  very  day.  He  had  never  before  been  on  board 
a  sailing  ship  of  the  size  of  the  Mary  of  Teck,  — 
and  for  the  moment  he  was  so  well  satisfied  that  he 
almost  forgot  his  dark  purpose.  His  work,  his  suc- 
cess, his  sense  of  achievement,  filled  his  heart,  and 
the  joy  of  life  downed  the  bitterness  in  his  healthy 
young  brain. 

Except  the  captain,  the  first  and  second  mates, 
the  quartermaster,  the  ship's  carpenter,  and  the 
bo'sun,  every  man  on  the  Mary  of  Teck  was  a  for- 
eigner. This,  of  course,  threw  the  English-speak- 
ing members  of  the  ship's  company  more  or  less 
together.  The  bo'sun  and  the  carpenter  were  both 


The  Mate  of  the  Mary  of  Teck    311 

from  Biddeford,  in  Devon,  —  grizzled,  weather- 
beaten  old  seamen,  talking  a  dialect  which  to  Seth 
seemed  hardly  English  at  all.  They  were  heavy- 
built,  silent  men,  endlessly  smoking  their  short, 
black  wooden  pipes,  very  deferential  in  their  man- 
ner toward  their  superiors, —  of  whom  it  delighted 
Seth  to  find  himself  one,  —  but  curtly  masterful 
with  the  crew.  Seth  felt  that  they  were  men  to  be 
depended  on  in  any  kind  of  a  tight  place,  but  not  to 
be  cultivated  with  profit  in  time  of  ease.  They 
were  both  called  Bill,  —  the  bo'sun  Bill  Jenkins, 
and  the  carpenter  Bill  Lipsett.  They  camped  to- 
gether on  the  borderland,  as  it  were,  between  the 
foreign  crew  and  the  quarter-deck. 

The  second  mate,  Mr.  Tinker,  was  a  ginger- 
haired,  dapper,  diligent  little  cockney,  quick  as  a 
steel  trap,  who  knew  a  little  of  everything  and 
talked  about  it  confidently  all  the  time,  strewing 
the  deck  with  his  H's.  For  all  his  noisy  brag,  how- 
ever, his  eye  was  steady  and  honest ;  and  Seth  con- 
cluded that  his  qualities  in  all  probability  surpassed 
his  charms.  Seth  recalled  how  once,  at  school, 
Mandy  Russ  had  attempted  to  teach  him  the  lan- 
guage of  flowers.  All  he  remembered  now  was 
that  the  significance  of  mignonette,  as  Mandy  had 
expounded  it,  was  "  your  qualities  surpass  your 
charms."  Whimsically  enough,  he  now  thought 
of  Mr.  Tinker  as  Mignonette;  and  ever  afterward 


312  The  Heart  That  Knows 

calling  him  by  that  name  in  his  mind,  he  came  to 
see  a  grotesque  outward  resemblance  between  the 
eminently  unbashful  man  and  the  eminently  modest 
flower. 

But  the  man  who  particularly  excited  Seth's  in- 
terest was  the  first  mate,  who  seemed  to  have  all  the 
strong  efficiency  of  the  captain,  with  a  charm  that 
the  shrewd,  dogmatic  Scotchman  absolutely  lacked. 
This  man  was  either  an  American  or  a  Canadian,  — 
Seth  could  not  make  up  his  mind  which.  The  crew 
seemed  to  like  him  no  less  than  they  feared  him. 
The  prompt  and  exact  obedience  which  they  ren- 
dered to  the  captain  had  something  impersonal 
about  it,  as  if  they  recognized  in  him  a  swift,  effi- 
cient force,  with  whose  workings  they  must  keep  up 
at  any  cost.  They  neither  knew  nor  cared  whether 
he  smiled  at  them  or  not.  But  with  the  mate  it  was 
different.  It  was  impossible  to  obey  him  more 
promptly  than  they  obeyed  Captain  Duff;  but  they 
could  obey  him  more  enthusiastically,  and  they  did. 
He  managed  to  meet  every  man's  eye,  with  a  cer- 
tain brusque  understanding,  demand,  and  good-will. 
Each  member  of  the  crew  was  to  him  an  individual, 
not  a  machine;  and  he  knew  each  one  by  his 
strange,  foreign  name.  Seth  felt  that  this  man's 
authority  was  inherent,  personal  to  himself,  and  not 
dependent  upon  his  office. 

He  was  a  man  not  above  middle  stature,  this  first 


The  Mate  of  the  Mary  of  Teck    313 

mate  of  the  Mary  of  Teck,  —  a  man,  say,  five  feet 
eight  in  height,  slim-hipped,  wide-shouldered,  mus- 
cular-looking, yet  lithe,  and  weighing  perhaps  a 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  His  face  was  tanned  to 
a  deep,  clear,  ruddy  brown,  almost  as  dark  as  his 
short-curled,  elastic-looking,  ruddy-brown  hair. 
This  thick  hair,  and  the  thick,  golden-brown  mous- 
tache, were  ever  so  lightly  touched  with  gray;  and 
Seth  judged  their  owner  to  be  about  forty  years 
old.  His  eyes  were  a  clear  greenish  brown,  turning 
to  a  cold  gray  when  he  was  impatient  or  stern,  fill- 
ing with  sympathetic  light  when  he  smiled,  sinking 
into  a  darkness  as  of  dream  when  he  brooded, 
which  he  seemed  prone  to  do  when  unoccupied.  In 
repose,  his  mouth  showed  harsh,  sorrowful  lines 
drawn  deeply  about  it,  but  it  was  almost  boyish 
when  he  talked  or  laughed.  Left  to  his  own 
thoughts,  his  face  would  all  at  once  take  on  ten 
years  of  age.  Upon  this  man  Seth  could  look  down 
from  his  four  inches'  superiority  of  height;  but  in 
spirit  he  instinctively  looked  up  to  him. 

The  three  weeks  before  the  ship  sailed  were  too 
busy  for  the  formation  of  any  intimacies.  Seth 
felt  himself  in  an  atmosphere  of  friendliness,  and 
was  more  genuinely  at  peace  with  himself  than  he 
had  been  at  any  time  during  the  last  nine  years. 
When,  in  the  quiet  of  his  bunk,  he  found  time  to 
dwell  upon  his  vengeance,  his  slumbering  hate 


314  The  Heart  That  Knows 

would  flame  up  again  with  sickening  intensity.  He 
would  turn,  and  toss,  and  break  out  in  a  nervous 
sweat,  and  clench  his  hands  in  the  hot  dark,  till 
the  weariness  of  his  hard  day's  work  would  save 
him  in  spite  of  himself,  and  quiet  him  in  the  baths 
of  sleep.  But  in  the  morning,  rather  to  his  surprise, 
he  would  wake  contented,  instead  of  hag-ridden  by 
the  curse  upon  his  life.  This  state  of  mind  he  ex- 
amined solicitously,  viewing  it  with  some  distrust, 
until  he  satisfied  himself  that  it  was  the  nearing  of 
his  hour  of  vengeance  that  gave  him  his  unlooked- 
for  peace.  His  lean,  dark  face  was  grave,  as  al- 
ways ;  but  there  was  now  a  cheer  in  his  smile  which 
would  have  made  it  hard  for  any  one  to  believe 
that  his  one  reason  for  being  here  on  the  Mary  of 
Teck,  his  one  present  purpose  in  life,  indeed,  was 
that  of  wiping  out  in  blood  the  stain  of  his  mother's 
dishonour. 

When  at  last  the  Mary  of  Teck  put  out  to  sea 
once  more,  squaring  away  with  a  fair  wind  behind 
her  and  overrunning  the  long,  white-crested  seas, 
she  passed  a  trim-built  barquentine  beating  up  for 
the  Hoogly  mouth.  The  mate  was  standing  at  the 
rail,  watching  her  intently.  Seth  came  up  and  stood 
beside  him. 

"Can  you  make  her  out  yet,  Mr.  Callahan?" 
he  asked,  in  a  voice  that  thrilled  with  eagerness. 

The  mate's  face  was  stern  and  haggard. 


The  Mate  of  the  Mary  of  Teck    315 

"  Not  —  yet,  —  quite !  "  he  answered,  with  seem- 
ingly some  difficulty  in  his  speech. 

Seth  looked  at  him  curiously,  but  was  too  ab- 
sorbed in  the  ship  to  think  much  about  anything 
else. 

"  I'd  know  as  far  off  as  I  could  see  her,  she'd 
come  from  a  Fundy  shipyard !  "  he  cried,  enthusi- 
astically. "  Or  else  from  the  Miramichi,  or  Richi- 
bucto." 

At  this  moment  the  stranger  went  about  on  the 
port  tack,  showing  her  stern,  and  the  mate  lifted 
his  glasses. 

"  I  guess  you're  right !  "  said  he,  in  a  very  low 
voice,  handing  the  glasses  over  to  Seth. 

"  Why,  if  it  ain't  the  old  G.  G.  Goodridge.  She 
hails  from  Sackville,  New  Brunswick,"  cried  Seth, 
while  a  sudden  pang  of  homesickness  contracted  his 
heart.  A  mist  came  into  his  eyes,  and  he  did  not 
see  the  piercing  look  which  the  mate  turned  upon 
him. 

"  Your  name's  Warden,  ain't  it?  "  he  demanded, 
quickly.  "  May  I  ask,  how  do  you  spell  it?  " 

Seth  came  to  himself  at  once,  under  this  need 
of  protecting  himself  against  possible  inquiry  about 
his  parentage.  Instinct  and  preparation  both  served 
him. 

"  W-a-r-d-e-n !  "  he  answered,  easily.  "  There's 
quite  a  family  of  us,  up  Tidnish  way,  where  I  come 


316          The  Heart  That  Knows 

from.  It's  quite  a  drive,  down  from  Tidnish,  but  I 
used  to  get  in  to  Sackville  pretty  often.  I  tell  you, 
Mr.  Callahan,  it  made  me  kind  of  homesick,  to  see 
that  there  ship,  so  unexpectedly." 

"  Yes,  I  should  think,  —  I  should  think  it  might, 
—  homesick's  no  name  for  it !  "  replied  the  mate, 
repossessing  himself  of  the  glasses  and  fixing  his 
gaze  intently  on  the  retreating  vessel.  His  in- 
terest was  so  absorbing  that  Seth,  even  through 
his  own  absorption,  could  not  but  notice  it.  Seth 
was  not  at  all  given  to  asking  questions,  because, 
in  addition  to  his  native  reticence,  he  had  such  a 
dread  of  having  questions  put  to  him.  Now,  how- 
ever, he  yielded  to  a  sudden  craving  for  sympathy. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  those  parts,  Mr.  Calla- 
han? "  he  asked. 

The  mate  did  not  turn  his  head,  or  desist  from 
watching  the  flight  of  the  G.  G.  Goodridge.  For 
a  moment  he  made  no  reply.  Then  he  said,  slowly : 

"  Not  in  a  —  not  in  a  lifetime,  Mr.  Warden. 
But  I  belong  there.  I  was  born  at  Minudie,  not  far 
from  Amherst.  An'  my  heart  goes  back  to  them 
windy,  wide  green  marshes,  and  them  copper-red 
flats,  glistening  in  the  sun  as  the  tide  goes  out,  and 
them  great  yellow  tumbling  tides.  Seeing  that 
there  Sackville  ship  takes  me  back,  so  I  can  smell 
the  smell  of  the  hay  an'  the  smell  of  the  salt-flats, 
the  way  they  used  to  mix  together !  " 


The  Mate  of  the  Mary  of  Teck    317 

"  Oh,  but  it's  a  long  ways  off,"  cried  Seth,  his 
eyes  brimming.  And  he  held  out  a  hand  which 
the  mate  grasped  warmly.  "  An'  that  there  bar- 
quentine  yonder,"  pursued  the  mate,  "  maybe  you 
could  tell  me  who  she's  named  for !  It  ain't  a  com- 
mon name,  the  name  of  Goodridge." 

A  flood  of  homesick  enthusiasm  rushed  to  Seth's 
lips,  —  but  he  checked  it  back,  and  resumed  his 
grave  composure. 

"  She's  named  for  Parson  Goodridge,"  he  replied, 
"  him  that's  rector  of  Sackville,  an'  Westcock, 
down  by  the  Tantramar  mouth.  They  say  he's 
thought  a  lot  of,  down  Sackville  way." 

"Oh,  ay!"  said  the  mate,  with  apparent  indif- 
ference; and  fell  therewith  into  so  deep  a  reverie 
that  Seth  moved  away  without  disturbing  it.  He 
was  torn  by  strong  emotion.  His  heart  went  out 
to  this  man  of  his  own  country,  almost  of  his  own 
village.  Had  it  only  been  possible  for  him  to  be 
frank,  what  a  comfort  it  would  have  been  to  un- 
loose his  lonely  heart  to  one  who  could  so  sym- 
pathize! What  a  delight  unspeakable,  to  talk  of 
Westcock,  and  the  Tantramar,  and  the  rector, 
freely  and  without  misgiving!  Any  other  man 
could  have  done  so.  But  he,  he  was  different.  He 
had  been  set  apart  from  his  fellows,  and  cursed, 
by  the  man  who  had  wronged  his  mother.  As  he 
brooded  thus,  and  realized  that  even  here,  on  the 


318  The  Heart  That  Knows 

opposite  side  of  the  world  and  among  strangers, 
he  could  not  escape  the  blight  upon  his  life,  the  hate 
which  had  been  of  late  but  smouldering  burst  into 
a  new  and  fiercer  flame. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

THE   FIGHT   IN    THE   DANCE  -  HALL 

AFTER  this  conversation  the  first  mate  and  Seth 
seemed  to  gravitate  naturally  toward  each  other 
whenever  they  were  both  at  leisure.  They  did  not 
talk  any  more  of  their  native  marshes  and  the  yel- 
low tides  of  Fundy,  —  Seth  being  shy  of  the  sub- 
ject, and  Callahan  seeming  to  have  laid  it  away  in 
the  secret  closets  of  his  memory  with  the  passing 
of  the  G.  G.  Goodridge.  But  the  sympathy  be- 
tween them  was  such  as  apparently  needed  no  ex- 
pression beyond  propinquity.  They  talked  together 
on  every  other  subject  in  life  but  those  which 
touched  their  own  lives  most  closely.  And  Seth, 
in  particular,  found  it  strengthening  to  seek  the 
mate's  companionship  whenever  a  night  of  brooding 
on  his  vengeance  had  left  him  shaken  in  nerve.  His 
hate  had  now  so  fierce  a  grip  upon  his  spirit  that  he 
sometimes  feared  lest  the  black  mood  should  ob- 
trude itself  upon  his  duties  and  impair  his  useful- 
ness. When  it  threatened  to  tyrannize  over  him  in 
his  daily  routine,  he  found  that  there  was  nothing 

319 


320  The  Heart  That  Knows 

like  a  talk  with  the  mate  to  bring  him  back  to  a 
saner  mood. 

The  voyage  to  Singapore  was  sweltering  but 
uneventful,  with  winds  light,  but  favouring.  The 
Mary  of  Teck  was  to  discharge  only  a  portion  of 
her  cargo  here,  take  in  a  small  new  consignment, 
and  then  continue  around  into  the  China  Sea,  to 
Hongkong.  The  plan  of  her  voyage  could  not 
have  been  more  adapted  to  Seth's  quest  if  he  had 
arranged  it  himself.  There  would  be  all  the  time 
he  needed  at  Singapore. 

The  strange,  seething  vortex  of  races,  called 
Singapore,  caught  Seth's  imagination.  It  held  in 
itself  all  the  smells,  colours,  noises,  mysterious  sug- 
gestions of  the  East,  heightened  by  sharp  contrasts 
from  the  West.  Yellow,  and  white,  and  brown, 
and  black,  European,  Chinaman,  Malay,  Parsee, 
and  negro,  all  strove  here  in  trade  and  in  intrigue, 
bluntly  domineering,  coldly  shrewd,  suavely  in- 
sidious, according  to  their  race  and  type,  but  all 
held  back  from  each  other's  throats  by  the  impartial 
and  inflexible  hand  of  England.  For  his  curiosity, 
he  wandered  in  the  native  Mohammedan  bazaars, 
incense-perfumed  Chinese  shops,  and  quaint,  lan- 
terned, flowery  tea-houses,  with  an  occasional  in- 
cursion into  the  prosperous  European  quarter  to 
convince  himself  he  was  not  walking  in  a  dream. 
But  most  of  his  time  was  spent  in  the  hotels  and 


The  Fight  in  the  Dance-hall      321 

drinking-places  frequented  by  the  English-speak- 
ing seamen,  —  places  kept  usually  by  red,  perspir- 
ing,  methodical  Germans,  or  else  by  lean,  keen-eyed, 
adventurous  Americans  ready  to  turn  their  energy, 
on  the  slightest  provocation,  from  running  a  bar  to 
organizing  a  real  estate  boom  in  the  suburbs,  or 
getting  up  an  expedition  against  some  rich  pirate 
stronghold  among  the  southern  islands.  Besides 
these,  however,  he  found  a  sprinkling  of  places 
managed  by  Italians,  Greeks,  Portuguese,  or  half- 
breeds,  with  here  and  there  an  English-looking 
"  pub,"  presided  over  by  some  immutable  Britisher 
who  scorned  to  change  his  ideas  of  how  a  public- 
house  should  be  run  at  any  mere  dictates  of  climate, 
custom,  or  expediency.  His  way  was  best,  —  had 
been  proved  so  in  Hammersmith.  It  was  right 
that  these  foreigners  should  learn  to  like  it. 

In  all  these  places  Seth  drank  little,  —  just 
enough  to  buy  the  freedom  of  the  company,  —  ob- 
served and  listened  much,  and  asked  a  discreet 
question  now  and  then  as  occasion  offered.  But 
never  a  trace  was  uncovered  of  any  one  by  the 
name  of  Jim  Calder.  With  the  officers  of  the  Mary 
of  Teck,  of  course,  he  gave  no  sign  that  he  was 
looking  for  any  one,  that  he  was  thinking  of  any- 
thing but  his  duties  and  his  amusements.  He  had 
ever  before  his  sensitive  spirit  the  danger  of  excit- 
ing Mr.  Callahan's  curiosity,  and  so  opening  the 


322  The  Heart  That  Knows 

way  to  a  discovery  of  his  maimed  parentage,  his 
distaff  naming.  He  valued  the  mate's  friendship 
so  deeply  that  he  had  a  morbid  fear  of  anything 
that  might  happen  to  mar  it.  Moreover,  he  felt 
that  if  the  mate  had  ever  chanced  to  know  Jim 
Calder  (and  the  low  hills  of  Minudie  were  in  plain 
sight  from  Westcock),  he  would  be  likely  to  speak 
of  him  of  his  own  accord.  It  never  occurred  to 
Seth  to  doubt  that  his  father,  however  much  of  a 
scoundrel,  must  be  a  man  of  a  personality  not  to  be 
disregarded. 

Boy  though  he  was  in  years  and  in  experience 
of  life,  Seth  had  unlimited  reliance  in  his  own 
resources,  and  in  the  course  of  his  solitary  explora- 
tions he  continually  went  into  places  where  an  older 
or  more  prudent  man  would  hardly  have  ventured 
alone.  Partly  this  was  his  native  courage  and  self- 
confidence,  and  partly  it  was  a  certain  faith  in  his 
star.  He  believed  that  it  was  his  destiny  to  take 
vengeance  on  his  father.  Till  that  fated  task  was 
done,  nothing  could  happen  to  him.  It  had  never 
been  his  custom  to  wear  any  weapons  except  his 
own  effective  fists.  But  here,  in  this  roaring  vortex 
of  the  Orient,  he  allowed  himself  to  carry  a  handy 
Colts  32  in  his  hip  pocket.  His  quiet,  grave  man- 
ner, his  cool,  unwavering  eye,  and  his  six-foot, 
sinewy  stature  were  all,  taken  together,  an  excel- 
lent preventive  of  trouble. 


The  Fight  in  the  Dance-hall       323 

One  night,  when  Seth  was  returning  to  the  ship, 
oppressed  by  the  long  fruitlessness  of  his  search, 
and  with  more  than  wonted  hatred  in  his  heart,  his 
attention  was  caught  by  a  sudden  babel  of  shouts, 
and  oaths,  and  women's  screams  from  down  a  little 
side  street.  He  ran  that  way  at  once.  The  noise 
came  from  the  lighted  doorway  of  a  sort  of  beer- 
garden  and  dance-hall.  Seth  recognized  the  place 
as  one  where  he  had  already  made  his  profitless 
inquiries.  As  he  ran  up  to  the  door  the  hubbub 
increased.  It  was  evident  that  something  serious 
was  happening  in  there  amid  the  lights  and  the 
curses.  Seth  darted  in,  swiftly  but  quietly,  and 
tried  to  make  out  what  was  going  on.  The  sudden 
light  dazzled  him,  however.  Before  he  knew  it  he 
was  upon  the  fringes  of  a  wildly  excited  crowd  of 
foreign-looking  men  and  gaudy  women.  He 
stopped  and  shaded  his  eyes,  and  took  his  bearings, 
having  no  fancy  for  leaping  blind. 

In  his  anxiety,  —  for  what  he  heard  told  him 
that  some  one  was  fighting  against  heavy  odds,  — 
his  blindness  seemed  to  last  minutes.  In  reality, 
it  was  not  half  a  dozen  seconds  before  his  eyes 
cleared.  Right  ahead  of  him,  about  ten  paces  dis- 
tant, his  back  to  the  wall,  stood  Callahan,  making 
lightning-swift  slashes  and  lunges  with  the  steel- 
shod  blackthorn  which  he  always  carried  when 
ashore.  At  his  feet,  with  pallid,  unseeing  face 


324  The  Heart  That  Knows 

turned  upward,  lay  the  body  of  big  Steffan,  one  of 
the  sailors  of  the  Mary  of  Teck.  The  mate  stood 
over  Steffan's  body,  defending  it.  His  face  was 
stained  with  blood.  A  few  feet  in  front  of  him,  in 
a  widening  pool  of  blood,  lay  a  twitching  black 
figure,  stabbed  through  the  throat  by  that  steel- 
shod,  darting  weapon  in  the  mate's  hand.  All  this 
Seth's  eyes  took  in  at  a  flash;  and  also  that  Calla- 
han  was  hard-pressed,  with  swarthy  men  that 
looked  like  natives  assailing  him  from  right  and 
left  at  once,  —  his  front  being  protected  by  that 
quivering  figure  on  the  floor.  Every  detail,  and 
the  meaning  of  it,  stamped  itself  on  Seth's  brain 
in  the  smallest  fraction  of  a  second.  The  next 
instant  he  had  torn  the  crowd  apart  violently, 
ploughed  his  way  through,  dropped  the  nearest 
assailant  with  a  straight  left-hander,  like  a  bullet, 
back  of  the  ear,  and  shot  the  next  through  the  body. 
Before  he  had  time  to  think,  he  found  himself  be- 
side the  mate,  menacing  the  mob  with  his  smoking 
Colts. 

At  the  sound  of  the  shot  fell  a  silence,  followed 
by  a  restrained  murmur  as  the  throng  widened 
away.  The  dark-faced  assailants  —  Seth  remem- 
bered afterward  that  some  had  rings  in  their  ears 
—  seemed  to  fade  back  and  efface  themselves. 

"  You  got  here  just  in  time.  They  were  six  to 
one  agin  me,  and  the  blood  was  getting  into  my 


The  Fight  in  the  Dance-hall        325 

eyes ! " '  said  Callahan,  pleasantly,  wiping  his  eyes 
with  his  handkerchief.  Seth  was  excited,  and  did 
not  trust  himself  to  reply  at  once.  That  cheerful 
coolness  of  the  mate's  was  what  he  longed  to 
emulate. 

Every  one  seemed  to  be  trying  to  slip  away  from 
the  place  as  fast  as  possible.  The  mate  looked 
down  at  Steffan's  body,  deftly  and  gently  felt  at 
his  heart,  and  half-rolled  him  over. 

"  Dead  as  a  door-nail,  poor  devil !  "  he  said.  "  I 
might's  well  have  saved  myself  all  this  bother.  But 
we've  avenged  him,  eh?  He'll  sleep  easy  on  that 
score !  " 

There  was  a  tramp  of  heavy  feet  outside,  in  the 
street,  and  some  of  the  crowd  came  scurrying  back, 
seeking  another  exit. 

"  What's  up  now  ?  "  inquired  Seth,  his  hand 
going  to  his  hip  pocket. 

"  Oh,  the  police !  Let's  git !  Come  this  way !  " 
and  with  the  air  of  one  who  knew  his  way  thor- 
oughly he  caught  Seth's  arm  and  led  him  back 
through  a  small  door,  and  into  a  long,  narrow,  un- 
lighted  court. 

"But,  why?''  demanded  Seth,  in  amazement. 
"  What  'ave  we  got  to  be  afraid  of  the  police  for? 
Shouldn't  we  stop  an'  tell  them  all  we  can  ?  " 

"  Twouldn't  be  fair  to  the  ship!  "  answered  the 
mate,  with  decision.  "  We've  got  no  time  to  waste 


326  The  Heart  That  Knows 

in  court.  Let  the  police  find  out  for  themselves. 
They  didn't  help  us  any !  Come  on !  " 

As  they  ran,  softly,  Seth  kept  turning  the  matter 
over  in  his  mind,  and  realized  what  it  might  mean 
to  him  to  get  arrested  and  have  to  await  the  slow, 
relentless  course  of  a  trial.  Whether  as  a  principal 
or  a  witness,  the  prospect  was  not  attractive.  He 
felt  very  ready  to  follow  a  leader  like  this,  who 
could  be  at  the  same  time  both  reckless  and  prudent, 
and  whose  wisdom  seemed  to  balance  with  his 
strength  and  his  nerve. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  court  Seth  saw  a  door 
standing  half-open,  and  apparently  giving  upon 
another  street.  But  the  mate  had  no  concern  for 
that  half-open  door.  Before  reaching  it  he  turned 
to  the  left  under  a  low  brick  arch,  and  into  a  stable. 
At  the  inner  end  of  the  stable  a  ladder  led  up  to 
the  loft.  They  ran  up  the  ladder,  pulled  it  up 
after  them,  carried  it  across  the  loft,  and  lowered 
it  into  another  court.  When  they  had  descended 
they  took  down  the  ladder  and  laid  it  along  the 
wall.  Then  the  mate  led  through  an  open  space 
filled  with  all  kinds  of  rubbish  and  debris,  and  came 
to  a  gate  in  a  high  wall.  This  was  bolted.  He 
drew  the  bolt,  motioned  Seth  out,  and  closed  the 
gate  behind  them.  Seth  saw  that  they  were  in  an 
alley  which  he  remembered  as  branching  off  from 


The  Fight  in  the  Dance-hall       327 

the  street  leading  down  to  their  own  pier.  All  was 
quiet  around  them. 

"  I  don't  think  those  lads  will  follow  our  trail," 
said  Callahan,  with  a  laugh. 

"  You  seem  to  know  this  place  pretty  well,"  re- 
marked Seth,  with  admiration.  The  flight  had 
made  him  think  he  was  playing  a  part  from  one  of 
the  romances  which  he  had  pored  over  in  the  rec- 
tor's library. 

"  Oh,  I'd  ought  to  know  it,  God  knows !  "  an- 
swered the  mate,  rather  wearily,  the  cool,  restrained 
excitement  dying  out  of  him. 

"  I'd  give  anything,  Mr.  Callahan,"  said  Seth, 
as  the  two  started  in  a  leisurely  way  down  the  pier, 
the  mate  indifferently  holding  his  handkerchief  to 
a  nasty  slash  on  his  head,  —  "  I'd  give  most  any- 
thing, to  be  able  to  handle  a  stick  like  you  handled 
that  blackthorn  o'  yours  to-night.  It  was  cutlass 
and  rapier  in  one.  I  never  saw  anything  so  slick." 

"  The  point's  the  thing.  Give  'em  the  point,  lad, 
every  time,  when  you've  got  a  crowd  agin  you,  — 
an'  aim  at  their  faces.  That  scares  them.  But  I 
may  say,  you  weren't,  so  to  speak,  what  you'd  call 
anyways  slow.  You  were  as  handy  with  your  gun 
as  you  were  with  your  fist,  —  and  that's  saying  a 
heap,  I  can  tell  you.  That  was  one  thing  scared 
those  black  hell-cats  so.  I  tell  you  one  thing,  lad, 
there's  few  men  I  know,  —  an'  I've  met  a  lot  of 


328  The  Heart  That  Knows 

likely  scrappers,  —  that  would  have  sailed  into  a 
hostile  crowd  all  alone,  like  you  did  this  night.  An' 
there's  still  fewer  that  could  have  made  good,  like 
you  did.  I  owe  you  my  life,  that's  sure.  'Tain't 
much  good  to  me,  —  but  it's  something  to  the  fel- 
low that  does  it,  to  save  a  friend's  life.  Shake, 
lad !  "  And  he  held  out  his  right  hand,  which  Seth 
now,  in  the  starlight,  saw  to  be  bleeding  profusely 
from  a  long  knife-cut.  As  he  grasped  it,  and  the 
blood  went  warm  over  his  hand,  he  felt  a  strange 
thrill  of  pride,  —  of  a  pride  that  brought  tears  to 
his  eyes,  —  in  the  cool,  unfaltering  bravery  and 
masterful  sufficiency  of  this  man,  -his  vagrant  fel- 
low countryman  from  the  green  uplands  of  Minu- 
die. 

"  It's  a  proud  day  for  me,  Mr.  Callahan,"  he 
said,  steadying  his  voice  with  an  effort,  "  to  have 
stood  by  the  side  of  a  man  like  you,  in  a  scrape  like 
that.  I'll  be  proud  of  that,  just  as  long  as  I  live." 

And  as  he  spoke,  his  high  emotion  suddenly  went 
out  under  a  rush  of  black,  vengeful  rage.  This  man 
might  be  his  friend,  his  close,  intimate  comrade, 
but  for  the  fact  that  he  could  never  be  frank  with 
him.  Here,  too,  the  hand  of  the  man  who  had 
stained  his  life  from  its  beginning  intervened 
again,  branding  him,  denying  him  the  kindly,  hu- 
man solace  of  a  friend.  The  bastard  must  keep  his 
heart  hidden  behind  his  mask. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THE    BO'SUN'S    BELAYING -PIN 

THE  mate's  cuts  were  none  of  them  dangerous, 
but  the  one  on  his  head  was  enough  to  have  laid  up 
for  weeks  a  man  with  less  clean  and  vital  blood,  a 
constitution  less  resilient  and  indomitable.  Under 
Captain  Duff's  rough-and-ready,  but  essentially  ra- 
tional doctoring,  he  was  not  laid  up  at  all,  and  the 
wounds  healed  "  by  first  intention,"  as  the  surgeons 
would  have  said.  The  investigations  of  the  Singa- 
pore police  traced  the  slain  Steffan,  of  course,  to  the 
roll  of  the  Mary  of  Teck.  But  there  was  absolutely 
nothing  to  suggest  to  them  that  the  first  mate  or 
the  quartermaster  had  been  mixed  up  in  the  fatal 
quarrel.  The  trouble,  it  came  out  in  the  trial,  had 
started  over  a  girl,  as  usual,  —  a  slim,  gold-bangled 
brown  creature,  whom  the  big  blue-eyed  Finn, 
Steffan,  had  taken  away  from  the  leader  of  a  band 
of  piratical  Malay  sailors.  The  leader  was  dead,  of 
Seth's  bullet.  Another  of  the  band  was  dead,  of 
Callahan's  thrust  in  the  throat.  Of  the  rest  of  the 
band  the  police  caught  four,  —  and  of  these  two 
were  hanged.  The  crew  of  the  Mary  of  Teck  were 

329 


330  The  Heart  That  Knows 

well  content,  holding  that  Steffan  himself  could 
hardly  have  asked  for  an  ampler  revenge.  But  not 
a  soul,  save  the  captain  and  the  second  mate,  had 
a  suspicion  that  Mr.  Callahan  and  the  quartermaster 
knew  anything  of  the  matter.  The  captain,  who 
himself  liked  a  fight  well  enough  when  it  did  not 
interfere  with  business,  appreciated  the  good  turn 
they  had  done  him  in  dodging  the  police.  And  little 
Tinker  was  consumed  with  admiring  envy  because 
he  had  not  had  the  luck  to  be  in  the  scrap  with 
them. 

A  few  days  later  the  Mary  of  Teck  was  under 
way  again,  heading  out  into  the  treacherous  China 
Sea. 

Both  Captain  Duff  and  the  first  mate  knew  these 
waters  well,  —  the  shifting  and  perfidious  currents, 
the  thick-sewn  reefs,  and  the  wiles  of  the  piratical 
inhabitants  of  the  inhospitable  shore,  who  were 
cunning  in  the  use  of  lying  lights  to  lure  ships  to 
their  doom.  As  for  the  pirate  junks  which  would 
sometimes  swoop  out  from  secret  and  inaccessible 
harbours,  the  Mary  of  Teck  cared  little  for  them. 
She  had  speed  for  flight  when  she  wanted  to  flee. 
She  was  manned  and  armed  for  fight,  in  case  she 
should  want  to  give  battle.  At  bow  and  astern  she 
carried  a  serviceable  little  Maxim. 

On  this  voyage,  however,  as  it  proved,  there  was 
need  of  neither  flight  nor  fight  for  the  Mary  of 


The  Bo'sun's  Belaying-pin         331 

Teck.  Her  only  mischance  was  a  spell  of  calm,  off 
the  coast  to  northward  of  Sai-gun,  in  French 
Cochin  China.  Here,  on  account  of  a  dangerous 
current  setting  toward  a  group  of  reefs  and  rocky 
islets,  Captain  Duff  found  it  necessary  to  drop  an- 
chor and  await  a  breeze.  This  was  the  kind  of 
opportunity  which  Tonquinese  pirates  loved  to  take 
advantage  of,  —  but,  probably  forewarned  by  their 
spies  in  Singapore  that  the  big  East-Indiaman  had 
no  reason  to  dread  a  battle,  they  never  showed  a 
sign  of  their  existence.  The  far-off  shores  and 
headlands  remained  as  peaceful  in  appearance  as 
they  were  unalluring. 

But  the  enforced  idleness,  on  that  blistering  sea, 
became  almost  intolerable.  Some  of  the  Malays 
among  the  crew,  grown  weary  of  gambling,  went 
back  to  their  opium  on  the  sly,  in  spite  of  all  watch- 
fulness. This  was  a  vice  in  regard  to  which  Cap- 
tain Duff's  discipline  was  rigid.  He  knew  that 
unless  it  was  kept  down  with  an  iron  hand  it  was 
sure  to  interfere  with  the  efficiency  of  some  of  the 
men  just  when  they  were  most  needed,  —  and  you 
never  could  be  sure  which  ones.  Two  men  who 
were  caught  under  the  influence  of  the  poppy  siren, 
when  it  was  time  for  them  to  do  their  trick  at  holy- 
stoning the  deck,  were  put  in  irons  down  in  the 
stifling  hold,  to  sober  and  repent ;  and  their  plight 
made  others  more  careful,  if  not  altogether  abstemi- 


332  The  Heart  That  Knows 

ous.  One  fellow,  however,  whose  indulgence  was 
not  opium  but  the  deadlier  Indian  hemp,  and  who, 
through  cunning  and  constitution  combined,  had 
been  tampering  with  it  for  two  or  three  days  with- 
out outward  betrayal  of  its  effects,  went  suddenly 
mad  in  the  heat.  Without  warning,  he  sprang  upon 
his  nearest  comrade  and  stabbed  him  behind  the 
bare,  brown  shoulder,  right  through  to  the  heart. 
Then,  with  a  screech,  he  set  out  to  run  amuck  down 
the  deck,  slashing  this  way  and  that  with  the  bloody 
knife. 

That  screeching  yell,  with  the  uproar  that  fol- 
lowed it,  need  no  explaining  to  the  captain  and  the 
mates,  who  knew  their  East.  They  rushed  for- 
ward. Seth,  on  the  other  hand,  was  amazed  and 
startled.  He  was  engrossed  in  writing  a  letter  to 
his  mother,  under  a  bit  of  awning  near  the  star- 
board rail,  hidden  from  view  by  a  pile  of  teak 
timbers  of  which  the  ship  carried  a  partial  deck- 
load.  As  he  jumped  to  his  feet  one  of  the  Lascars 
fled  by,  his  black  eyes  starting  from  his  head,  his 
face  blanched  to  a  dirty  pallor.  Almost  on  his  heels 
bounded  the  madman  with  the  bloody  knife. 

That  was  something  Seth  understood.  He 
darted  forth  to  hurl  himself  upon  the  maniac's  back. 
At  the  same  instant,  however,  the  English  bo'sun, 
Bill  Jenkins,  who  was  readier  with  his  hands  than 
with  his  heels,  hurled  a  heavy  belaying-pin.  At 


The  Bo'sun's  Belaying-pin         333 

this  game  Bill  Jenkins  was  unerring.  The  belaying- 
pin  would  have  caught  the  madman  full  in  the  back 
of  the  neck,  —  had  not  Seth  at  that  moment  in- 
tervened. Fortunately  for  him,  he  was  not  in  the 
exact  line  of  the  hurtling  missile.  It  struck  him  a 
glancing  but  stunning  blow,  on  the  side  of  the  head 
just  over  the  ear,  where  the  skull  was  substantial. 
The  force  of  the  blow  joined  with  that  of  his  own 
momentum,  and,  plunging  onward  as  he  lost  con- 
sciousness, he  pitched  head  foremost  over  the  rail. 
In  the  same  moment,  Mr.  Tinker's  revolver  rang 
out.  The  madman  went  down  sprawling  and  kick- 
ing, shot  through  the  loins. 

As  Seth  pitched  overboard,  the  boatswain,  who 
could  not  swim,  gave  a  yell  of  consternation,  and 
rushed  to  lower  away  a  boat.  The  first  mate,  how- 
ever, who  had  seen  the  accident,  dropped  his  re- 
volver, sprang  to  the  rail,  and  without  hesitation 
dived  in.  Seth,  being  unconscious,  had  sunk.  But 
the  mate  was  like  a  seal  in  the  water ;  and  the  water 
was  clear.  Slowly,  waveringly,  the  dark  form  sank 
through  the  deepening  green  as  the  momentum  of 
the  fall  spent  itself.  But  the  mate's  clean  dive  car- 
ried him  deep  and  swift.  He  caught  the  body, 
turned,  and  struck  out  for  the  surface,  emerging 
about  twenty  paces  from  the  ship's  side.  The  mo- 
ment he  appeared  he  shouted  for  help,  and  began 
thrashing  the  water  violently  with  his  free  arm  to 


334          The  Heart  That  Knows 

scare  off  any  sharks  that  might  be  about.  A  few 
seconds  more  and  the  boat  splashed  down,  and  shot 
toward  them;  and  he  and  his  unconscious  burden 
were  hurriedly  hauled  in. 

"Be  he  aloive,  sir?"  appealed  the  boatswain, 
with  anxious  countenance. 

The  mate  was  feeling  for  Seth's  heart.  A  look  of 
infinite  relief  passed  over  his  face,  and  he  smiled 
whimsically. 

"  I  guess  he'll  come  round  all  right,  Bill.  It 
takes  more'n  a  belayin'-pin  an'  a  few  sharks  to  kill 
one  of  these  Canadians." 

But  it  was  not  till  he  had  been  laid  on  deck  under 
an  awning,  and  stripped,  and  ammonia  put  to  his 
nose,  and  ice  put  on  his  head,  that  Seth  came  to. 
As  he  opened  his  eyes  he  met  the  mate's  eyes,  bend- 
ing over  him;  and  the  look  of  unfathomable  ten- 
derness, of  half-wistful  love,  which  he  encountered 
there,  sank  into  his  heart.  Instinctively,  and  with  a 
smile,  he  grasped  the  mate's  hand,  and  sat  up. 

"  He'll  be  sound  as  a  bell  in  no  time !  "  said  the 
captain,  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction. 

"What's  happened?"  demanded  Seth,  amazed 
to  find  himself  stripped.  Then  he  clapped  his  hand 
to  his  aching  head. 

"  Oh,  I  remember !  Something  hit  me  an  awful 
clip!  Did  you  git  that  lunatic  with  the  knife?" 


The  Bo'sun's  Belaying-pin         335 

"  I  jolly  well  plugged  him! "  cried  Mr.  Tinker, 
cheerfully. 

"  It  was  Bill  here  did  you  up !  "  said  the  mate, 
indicating  the  bo'sun's  troubled  countenance.  "  But 
I  don't  think  it  was  you  he  was  trying  to  hit  with 
that  handy  belayin'-pin  of  his.  He's  going  to  prac- 
tise with  it  a  bit,  an'  try  an'  not  hit  the  wrong  man 
on  the  head  the  next  time ! " 

"  Knocked  you  clean  overboard,"  explained  the 
captain.  "  And  Mr.  Callahan  had  to  go  over  after 
you  and  keep  the  sharks  shooed  off  till  we  could  get 
the  boat  lowered." 

Seth's  eyes  met  Callahan's  again,  with  a  look 
of  ardour  that  was  more  than  gratitude;  and  the 
mate  said: 

"  That  was  nothing !  It  was  as  easy  as  falling 
off  a  log.  But  I'm  powerful  glad  it  was  me  that 
had  the  chance  to  do  it  for  you,  lad,  instead  of  the 
captain  here,  or  Mr.  Tinker,  who  could  have  done 
the  same  thing  just  as  well  as  me.  It's  sort  o'  tit 
for  tat  between  us  now !  " 

Seth  struggled  resolutely  to  his  feet,  but  kept  the 
towel  of  crushed  ice  held  closely  to  his  head. 

"  That  ice  feels  mighty  good,"  he  declared. 
"  But  I  reckon  I'll  get  some  clothes  on  now.  A 
bag  of  ice  ain't  enough  for  a  man  to  wear,  even 
in  a  climate  like  this.  What's  become  of  that  luna- 
tic that  made  all  the  trouble  ?  " 


336  The  Heart  That  Knows 

"  Oh,"  said  the  captain,  "  when  his  friends  whom 
he  tried  to  murder  saw  that  the  sharks  had  been 
cheated  out  of  your  carcass,  they  threw  him  over 
to  them,  just  for  good  luck.  But  he  wasn't  taking 
notice  any  more,  so  it  didn't  matter.  There  was 
no  fancy  funeral  coming  to  him,  anyhow ! " 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

THE   RECTOR   AND   TIM    LARSEN 

THAT  night,  under  the  vivid  tropic  stars,  Seth 
lay  in  his  hammock  on  deck,  his  throbbing  head  still 
bound  with  an  ice-pack,  while  the  captain  and  the 
mate  lounged  close  by  in  their  long,  cool,  reclining- 
chairs  of  cane,  smoking,  and  sipping  shingaree.  It 
was  the  second  mate's  watch;  but  in  the  starlit 
calm,  with  the  glass  showing  "  Steady,  Fair,"  Mr. 
Tinker  was  allowing  himself  some  latitude.  The 
talk  between  Captain  Duff  and  Mr.  Callahan  was 
interesting,  and  from  time  to  time  he  would  turn 
up  and  join  in. 

The  captain,  when  a  boy,  had  been  coldly  and 
mercilessly  cheated  out  of  a  little  inheritance,  by 
an  executor-trustee  whose  name  carried  before  it  the 
title  of  "  Reverend."  Being  a  man  of  somewhat 
narrow  and  unvarying  mental  process,  he  had  it 
settled  firmly  in  his  mind  that  priests  and  parsons 
in  general  were  "  no  good."  With  his  dry,  caustic 
Scotch  wit,  he  told  pungent  stories  against  them, 
all  aiming  to  show  that  when  they  were  sincere 
they  were  milksops,  and  when  they  were  strong 

337 


338  The  Heart  That  Knows 

they  were  self-seeking  hypocrites.  Seth  listened 
with  growing  impatience.  He  had  known  but  two 
clergymen.  One  of  these  two  was  his  adored  rector, 
whom  he  felt  to  be  no  less  "  good,"  in  the  deepest 
spiritual  sense,  than  he  was  manly  and  strong  in  a 
worldly  sense.  The  other,  Mr.  Sawyer,  the  Baptist 
minister,  all  Westcock  and  Wood  Point  knew  for  an 
honest,  sincere,  kindly  man,  for  whose  presence  the 
community  was  the  better.  His  head  throbbed  too 
painfully  to  let  him  join  issue  with  the  dogmatical 
captain,  who  had  all  a  Scotchman's  skill  in  dialectic. 
He  would  have  flamed  out  presently,  however,  in 
defence  of  the  cloth,  had  not  Callahan  at  length 
stepped  into  the  breach. 

The  mate,  in  argument,  was  persuasive  where 
the  captain  was  assertive.  He  began  by  a  strategic 
undermining  of  his  opponent's  sweeping  universal. 
He  recited  cases,  which  the  captain  would  try  in- 
geniously to  discredit.  When  the  second  mate 
joined  in,  it  was  to  support  the  captain,  with  coarse 
but  witty  anecdote  or  comment.  Warmed  up  by 
the  argument,  the  mate  at  length  became  insistent, 
demanding  credence  on  the  ground  of  his  own, 
direct,  personal  observation.  He  set  himself  to 
paint,  in  detail,  with  lavish  illustration  and  convinc- 
ing fervour,  a  parish  priest  whose  life  in  every  way 
gave  the  lie  to  the  captain's  strictures  upon  his  call- 
ing. The  picture  he  presented  was  that  of  one  who 


The  Rector  and  Tim  Larsen       339 

was  a  man  among  men,  tireless  in  his  work  and  in 
his  sympathies,  tolerant  and  charitable  in  his  judg- 
ments, yet  fearless  in  rebuke,  forgetful  of  self,  un- 
failing in  tenderness;  very  human,  too,  in  his  sen- 
sitive, quick  temper,  his  hearty  mirth,  his  frank 
pride  in  his  muscular  strength,  which  was  phenom- 
enal, and  his  boyish  readiness  to  take  the  law  into 
his  own  hands  when  any  question  of  a  woman's 
honour  or  the  protection  of  the  weak  was  at  stake. 
As  the  picture  grew,  Seth  began  to  wonder  where 
in  all  the  world  the  mate  could  have  met  a  clergy- 
man so  amazingly  like  the  rector.  While  he  was 
mulling  this  idea  over  in  his  troubled  brain,  the 
captain  and  Mr.  Tinker  were  reluctantly  confessing 
that  this  particular  parson,  at  all  events,  must  be 
not  only  a  parson  but  a  gentleman.  Then,  to  clinch 
the  matter  in  the  minds  of  these  scoffers,  he 
launched  into  a  picturesque  story  of  this  parson's 
dauntless  courage,  and  of  his  ascendency  over  the 
roughest  and  most  dangerous  characters  that  came 
within  reach  of  his  influence. 

"  This  parson  I'm  telling  you  about,"  went  on 
the  mate,  with  a  kind  of  admiring  passion  in  his 
voice,  "  which  I  want  you  to  know  was  more  of  a 
man  than  any  of  us,  and  could  do  up  any  one  of  us 
on  this  ship,  easy,  and  was  at  the  same  time  tender 
as  a  mother,  and  simple,  some  ways,  as  a  child,  — 
he  lived,  with  his  wife  and  the  servant-girl,  in  a 


340  The  Heart  That  Knows 

lonely  kind  of  a  house  a  good  ways  off  into  the 
country.  One  winter  night  he  got  home  from  a 
long  journey.  He'd  been  away  a  week,  and  got 
back  a  couple  of  days  sooner  than  he  expected. 

"  Now,  as  it  happened,  in  a  neighbouring  parish 
there  was  miners,  and  a  mighty  rough,  big-limbed, 
brawling  lot  of  chaps  the  miners  were,  always 
lookin'  for  trouble,  an'  makin'  it  when  they  couldn't 
find  it.  And  the  biggest,  strongest,  quarrelsomest 
bully  of  the  whole  crowd  was  big  Tim  Larsen,  who 
was  part  Swede,  an'  part  Irish,  an'  the  rest  plain 
s-n  of  a-b-tch.  Just  about  the  time  the  parson  was 
gettin'  home  Tim  gets  on  a  tearin'  spree  an'  comes 
over  to  parson's  parish,  —  which  we'll  call  Kouchi- 
bouguac,  —  an'  begins  kickin'  up  trouble  at  the 
little  tavern  down  in  the  village.  He  licks  every- 
body that'll  fight  him,  an'  some  that  try  not  to,  an' 
then,  to  make  more  fun,  he  takes  'em  on  by  twos 
an'  threes;  an'  as  some  of  the  Wes —  Kouchibou- 
guac  boys  was  pretty  husky  lads,  he  gets  pretty 
well  cut  up  before  he  gets  enough  licked  to  satisfy 
him.  As  he  has  plenty  of  cash  in  his  pockets,  he 
then  squares  himself  with  the  barkeep  an'  the  rest 
o'  the  boys  by  buying  the  drinks  several  times 
round,  an'  spite  of  black  eyes  and  broken  teeth 
everybody's  having  a  fine  time. 

" '  I  kin  lick  any  two  men  to  oncet,  any  two  men 


The  Rector  and  Tim  Larsen       341 

in  this  'ere  county ! '  announced  Tim,  in  the  course 
of  the  enlightening  conversation. 

"  '  Humph,'  says  one  chap,  with  both  his  eyes 
blacked  up,  '  there's  one  man  right  here  in  Kouchi- 
bouguac  you  can't  lick ! ' 

"  '  Show  'im  to  me ! '   shouts  Tim. 

"  '  I  mean  the  parson,'  says  the  other.  '  We  got 
a  little  parson  here  as  kin  do  you  up,  Tim  Larsen, 
with  one  hand,  an'  not  half-try ! ' 

"  '  Show  'im  to  me ! '  yells  Tim  again.  '  I've 
hearn  tell  o'  yer  parson.  I'll  make  his  mouth  sich 
a  quare  shape  he  won't  be  preachin'  to  yez  for  a 
month.  Where's  he  live  ?  '  An'  with  that  he  starts 
for  the  door  without  his  cap. 

"  '  I  don't  know  as  he's  home,'  explains  the  bar- 
keep.  '  He's  been  away  these  three  or  four  days 
back.' 

"  '  I  don't  keer  about  that ! '  shouts  Tim,  very 
wrathy.  '  Jest  tell  me  where  he  lives.  'F  he  ain't 
to  home,  I'll  wait  for  'im.' 

"  So  the  boys  directed  Big  Tim,  drunk  as  he  was 
an'  murdering  mad,  to  the  parsonage.  They  didn't 
mean  any  harm  by  it  at  all,  they  were  that  drunk. 
But  they  made  sure  the  parson  was  home  all  right; 
and  they  wanted  Tim  to  run  into  the  biggest  licking 
he'd  ever  got  in  his  life.  That's  the  kind  of  con- 
fidence they  had  in  the  parson,  —  that  though  they 
all  loved  him,  loved  every  hair  of  his  head,  they 


342  The  Heart  That  Knows 

thought  it  was  all  right  to  run  this  drunken  giant 
up  against  him  in  the  middle  of  a  winter's  night. 
It  never  occurred  to  them  that  it  might  give  the 
parson  any  inconvenience  to  have  to  get  up  and 
lick  Big  Tim.  They  likely  thought  he'd  be  writing 
on  his  sermon,  —  this  being  Saturday  night,  —  and 
Tim  would  just  do  to  warm  up  his  ideas  a  bit. 

"  Well,  the  parson  wasn't  writing  on  his  sermon. 
He'd  gone  to  bed,  and  just  got  to  sleep,  pretty  tired, 
—  when  he  was  awakened  by  a  tremendous  batter- 
ing on  the  back  door,  down-stairs.  He  sat  up. 

"  '  What  can  that  be  ?  '   he  inquired. 

"  '  Why,  it's  somebody  trying  to  break  in  the 
back  door  with  an  axe,'  said  his  wife.  '  I  wonder 
why  they  didn't  ring ! ' 

"  The  parson  jumped  out  of  bed,  pretty  mad  at 
being  disturbed.  He  lit  the  lamp,  and  was  march- 
ing off  in  his  nightshirt,  and  bare  feet,  to  see  about 
it,  when  there  was  a  crash,  and  they  heard  the  back 
door  come  down  slam. 

" '  George'  cried  his  wife,  indignantly,  '  put  on 
your  slippers  and  dressing-gown.  You'll  catch  your 
death  of  cold  that  way ! ' 

"  The  parson  did  put  on  his  slippers ;  but  he 
hadn't  any  time  to  bother  about  dressing-gowns.  In 
his  short  white  nightshirt,  and  carrying  the  lamp,  he 
hurried  down-stairs. 

"  At  this  old  parsonage,  you  must  understand, 


The  Rector  and  Tim  Larsen       343 

there  was  an  outer  kitchen,  used  in  summer,  and 
an  inner  kitchen,  used  as  a  kitchen  only  in  winter. 
It  was  the  outer  kitchen  door  that  had  been  smashed 
in.  Now,  just  as  the  parson  opened  the  door  leadin' 
from  the  hall  to  the  inner  kitchen,  the  door  opposite 
was  burst  in  with  a  crash,  an'  there  before  him 
stood  Big  Tim  Larsen,  his  face  all  bloody,  an'  in 
his  hands  the  axe  which  the  parson  used  to  chop 
wood  with  when  the  chore-boy  came  late. 

"  The  parson  was  pretty  mad.  '  Put  down  that 
axe ! '  he  ordered,  his  voice  like  bullets,  an'  the  look 
in  his  eyes,  under  his  high,  white  forehead,  hittin' 
Big  Tim's  brain  like  a  couple  o'  Mauser  balls.  The 
parson  couldn't  have  looked  very  dignified,  one 
would  think,  with  his  nightshirt  flappin'  about  his 
bare  legs ;  but  he's  the  kind  of  a  man  that  carries  his 
dignity  inside,  so's  it  don't  depend  on  his  clothes. 
Any  ways,  it  was  enough  for  Big  Tim.  He  stood 
the  axe  in  the  corner  as  quick  as  he  could,  an'  felt 
for  his  cap  to  take  it  off  respectfully. 

"  '  What  do  you  mean  by  breaking  into  my  house 
that  way  ?  '  demanded  the  parson,  sternly,  —  but 
now  there  was  something  in  his  voice  as  if  he  was 
talkin'  to  a  very  bad  child.  Big  Tim  shifted  his 
feet  bashfully.  Those  eyes  of  the  parson's  were 
makin'  him  feel  as  if  he  was  about  two  foot  high. 
'  Beg  pardon,  sir !  But  I  didn't  know  you  was 
to  home ! '  he  stammered. 


344  The  Heart  That  Knows 

"  This  being  just  the  rottenest,  damnedest  excuse 
he  could  possibly  have  given,  the  parson  saw  it  was 
certainly  honest. 

"  '  The  next  time  you  come  to  my  house,'  said  he, 
severely,  '  whether  I'm  home  or  not,  you  ring  the 
bell,  remember.  You're  very  drunk,  so  I'll  overlook 
it  this  time.  Now  you  go  and  fix  up  that  back  door 
you've  knocked  down.  It's  letting  enough  cold  in 
to  freeze  the  whole  house  out.' 

"  Big  Tim  stood  the  door  in  place,  ran  the  bolt, 
and  piled  some  wood  against  it  to  keep  it  steady. 
On  the  inner  door  the  lock  had  given  way,  so  the 
hinges  weren't  broke.  Very  much  ashamed  of  him- 
self, he  fumbled  at  the  broken  lock,  then  turned 
round,  fished  out  two  handfuls  of  money  from  his 
pants'  pockets,  and  shyly  shoved  them  at  the  parson 
as  a  kind  of  peace-offering. 

*  No,  thank  you,  my  man ! '  says  the  parson,  a 
little  more  gently.  '  Put  it  back  into  your  pockets, 
and  go  to  the  sink  there  and  wash  the  blood  off 
your  face.  You  are  a  sight ! ' 

"  Tim  felt  of  his  face. 
1  Bin  fightin',"  he  explained,  apologetically. 

"  '  So  I  should  fancy,'  says  the  parson,  with  a 
little  bit  of  a  quizzical  smile. 

"  '  Thank  you  fur  yer  kindness,  parson,'  says  Big 
Tim,  now  mighty  anxious  to  get  away.  *  But  I 
don't  like  fur  to  go  messin'  up  the  sink.  I'm  goin' 


The  Rector  and  Tim  Larsen       345 

now,  an'  I'll  git  cleaned  up  down  to  the  Cor- 
ners ! ' 

"  '  No,  you're  not  going  now ! '  said  the  parson, 
with  a  sweetness  that  was  kind  of  sharp  under- 
neath. '  I  don't  let  any  man  go  from  my  door  on  a 
night  like  this.  Moreover,  I  can't  trust  you  away 
from  me  till  you're  sober.  I  can't  tell  what  mis- 
chief you  might  get  into  before  daylight,  what  harm 
you  might  do  to  yourself  or  others.  Bring  those 
buffalo  robes,  from  the  outer  kitchen,  and  I'll  spread 
them  in  here  by  the  hall  stove  for  you,  and  you  can 
get  a  good  sleep.  What's  your  name?  ' 

"  '  Tim  Larsen,  sir ! '  answered  Tim,  very  nerv- 
ous. '  But  I  couldn't  think  of  puttin'  ye  to  so 
much  trouble,  sir.  I'll  git  a  bed  down  to  Billy 
Hicks's,  sir.' 

"  '  Not  much,  Tim !  You  don't  see  Hicks's  again 
to-night ! '  responded  the  parson,  that  hard  edge 
comin'  on  to  his  voice  again.  '  I've  heard  of  you, 
and  all  the  trouble  you  make  for  other  people  when 
you  get  on  one  of  your  sprees.  You'll  sleep  right 
here  the  rest  of  the  night.  And  after  breakfast, 
when  you  are  quite  yourself  again,  and  washed  up 
so  you'll  look  respectable,  perhaps  you'll  feel  like 
doing  me  a  favour  and  signing  the  pledge,  say  for 
six  months,  on  trial.  But  that,  of  course,  you  must 
decide  for  yourself.  Only  for  the  rest  of  the  night 
you've  got  to  be  my  guest.  I  didn't  ask  you  to 


346  The  Heart  That  Knows 

come,  but  having  come,  you've  got  to  stay.  Bring 
along  those  buffalos,  now,  and  we'll  make  you  com- 
fortable.' 

"  There  was  nothing  for  Tim  to  do  but  do  as  he 
was  told.  He  didn't  like  it  a  bit ;  but,  somehow,  he 
couldn't  have  said  exactly  why,  he  liked  it  better, 
by  a  long  chalk,  than  getting  into  a  disagreement 
with  the  parson  about  it.  The  parson  kind  of  fixed 
him  up  in  the  buffalos,  comfortable,  as  if  he'd  been 
a  baby.  Then,  turning  the  keys  in  the  front  door 
and  the  door  leading  into  the  inner  kitchen,  he  gave 
Tim  a  cheerful  '  good  night/  and  carried  the  keys 
up-stairs  with  him. 

"  And  there  Tim  laid,  meek  as  a  lamb,  knowing 
the  doors  were  locked,  and  the  windows  all  double 
sashed,  so  he  couldn't  get  out  that  way  without 
bringing  the  parson  down  again.  And  he  went  to 
sleep,  —  and  up  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  the  parson 
an'  his  wife  slept  as  contented  as  you  please,  — 
and  in  the  morning  Tim  was  the  soberest  man  he'd 
ever  been.  Breakfast,  and  lots  of  strong  coffee,  — 
which  the  parson,  somehow,  knew  he  needed,  — 
steadied  him  up;  and  the  parson's  wife  was  as  sweet 
as  pie  to  him.  An'  then  he  wanted  to  sign  the 
pledge  for  good  an'  all.  But  the  parson  wouldn't 
hear  of  it. 

"  '  No,  Tim/  said  he,  as  if  they  were  old  friends, 
'you  don't  want  to  push  yourself  too  hard  at  first. 


The  Rector  and  Tim  Larsen       347 

A  promise  is  a  sacred  thing,  and  you  want  to  try 
an  easy  one  first.  If  you  give  me  your  word  of 
honour  not  to  touch  a  drop  of  liquor  for  six  months, 
I  know  you'll  keep  it.  When  the  six  months  is  up, 
we'll  talk  about  another  pledge,  if  you  like.' 

"  Then  Tim,  well  slicked  and  brushed  up,  and 
with  a  fur  cap  of  the  parson's  on  his  head,  went  off, 
and  told  all  about  it,  braggin'  on  the  parson,  and 
offering  to  lick  anybody  that  thought  the  parson 
couldn't  lick  any  man  in  the  Province.  For  the  six 
months  he  never  tasted  a  drop.  When  the  time  was 
up  he  went  on  a  spree  just  for  cussedness;  but  when 
it  was  over  he  was  kind  of  disgusted  with  himself. 
He  went  and  told  the  parson,  and  said  he  was  ready 
to  take  the  pledge  for  any  length  of  time.  The  par- 
son looked  at  him  hard  a  bit,  then  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  him. 

"  '  Tim,'  says  he, '  I  think  you're  the  sort  of  a  man 
that's  strong  enough  just  to  keep  straight  without 
any  pledge  at  all.  Some  men  are  so  weak,  or  drink 
has  got  such  a  hold  on  them,  they  have  to  have  a 
solemn  pledge,  to  lean  on,  as  it  were.  But  I  want 
to  see  you,  Tim,  stand  up  four-square,  all  by  your- 
self, and  set  an  example  to  the  rest  of  the  boys,  and 
just  keep  clear  of  the  drink  because  it  makes  a  beast 
of  you,  not  because  you've  made  a  promise  to  me ! ' 

"  '  Parson,'  says  Tim,  '  I'll  do  it.'  And  from  that 
day  on,  as  I've  heard,  nobody  could  say  they'd  ever 


348  The  Heart  That  Knows 

seen  Big  Tim  the  worse  of  liquor.  Once  in  awhile, 
maybe,  he'd  take  a  drink,  but  never  to  hurt.  From 
being  the  worst,  he  panned  out  one  of  the  very  best 
men  in  the  mines,  —  and  it  was  to  the  parson  he 
owed  it,  there's  no  getting  around  that !  " 

When  the  mate  came  to  an  end,  there  was  a  mo- 
ment's pause. 

"  You  must  acknowledge,  Mr.  Callahan,"  said 
the  captain,  cautiously,  "  that  your  friend  is  not  only 
an  exceptional  parson,  but  a  most  exceptional  man. 
It's  plain  we've  come  across  two  very  different  va- 
rieties of  the  species,  you  and  I." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
SETH'S  FATHER 

As  Seth  lay  in  his  hammock,  now  listening  to 
the  mate's  voice,  —  which  was  music  to  his  ears,  — 
now  hearing  nothing  for  the  pounding  pains  in  his 
head,  it  suddenly  reached  his  consciousness  that  the 
mate's  story  was  a  familiar  one  to  him.  Undoubt- 
edly, the  mate's  parson  was  none  other  than  his 
own  rector.  The  story  of  Tim  Larsen  was  an  old 
and  oft-told  one  in  Westcock,  —  plainly  it  had 
reached  around  by  the  Isthmus  to  Minudie,  in  the 
days  when  Mr.  Callahan  was  a  boy  there.  But  as 
the  story  went  on,  his  attention  was  caught  by  the 
intimate  little  personal  details  of  the  rector's  charac- 
ter, of  the  household,  of  the  house.  It  was  impos- 
sible that  any  one  should  know  all  these  things  by 
hearsay.  This  was  no  Minudie  man,  but  a  West- 
cock  man,  claiming  the  rector  with  the  same  loving 
enthusiasm  with  which  he  himself  might  have 
claimed  him.  This  man  had  evidently  lived  in  close 
touch  with  the  rector.  Then  Seth's  brain,  already 
whirling  and  staggering  before  the  impact  of  a 
truth  which  he  did  not  yet  acknowledge,  began  to 

349 


350  The  Heart  That  Knows 

recall  the  mate's  strange  emotions  at  the  sight  of 
the  G.  G.  Goodridge,  that  day  when  they  were  just 
out  from  the  Hoogly.  He  recalled  the  mate's  hag- 
gard face,  his  first  eager  questions,  —  and  then  his 
utter  silence  on  the  subject  of  Tantramar  and  all 
connected  therewith.  "  Why,"  thought  Seth,  "  it's 
been  him  that's  fought  shy  of  it,  all  this  time,  just 
as  much  as  me !  "  Then,  on  a  sudden,  with  what 
seemed  like  a  thunderclap  in  his  brain,  everything 
came  clear  to  him.  A  faint  groan  burst  from  his 
lips,  —  which  he  turned  to  a  cough.  He  caught 
hard  at  the  edges  of  the  hammock;  and  for  a  few 
moments  the  starlit  sky,  the  masts,  the  deck,  and  the 
lounging  figures  before  him,  seemed  to  go  round 
in  a  pulsing  mist.  This  man,  —  whose  voice  still 
went  on,  —  this  man's  name  was  not  Jim  Callahan 
at  all.  IT  WAS  JIM  CALDER. 

The  truth  came  to  him,  when  it  did  come,  as  an 
absolute  certainty.  It  explained  the  fruitlessness  of 
his  search.  In  Calcutta,  or  in  Singapore,  he  would 
have  heard  of  Jim  Callahan  everywhere,  as  one  of 
the  best  known  seamen  in  the  East,  with  every  one 
wondering  what  the  mystery  was  that  hindered 
him  having  a  ship  of  his  own.  In  seeking  for  Jim 
Calder,  he  was  seeking  a  lost  and  forgotten  name. 

When  the  story  was  done,  Seth  gathered  his  wits 
and  his  strength,  got  up  out  of  his  hammock,  and 
started  for  the  cabin. 


Seth's  Father  351 


"Anything  I  can  do  for  you?"  inquired  both 
the  captain  and  the  mate,  together. 

"  No,  Sir,  thank  you,  nothing !  I'll  be  back  in  a 
minute!  "  he  answered,  —  and  as  he  spoke  he  could 
not  help  wondering  that  his  voice  —  at  that  moment 
when  his  heart  was  cracking,  and  his  soul  raging 
in  torment  —  should  sound  so  natural,  so  easy,  so 
cool. 

Reaching  his  bunk,  he  threw  himself  down  for 
a  moment,  unmindful  of  the  stifling  heat,  striving 
to  order  his  thoughts. 

This  man  Callahan,  then,  —  this  was  his  father ! 
This  was  the  man  who  had  dishonoured  his  mother. 
This  was  the  man  who  had  put  a  stigma  on  two 
lives.  This  was  the  man  whom  he  had  been  plan- 
ning and  scheming,  all  these  years,  to  kill  like  a  dog 
on  sight.  And  now,  to  add  to  the  intolerable  inju- 
ries which  he  had  done  him  in  the  past,  he  had 
tricked  him  into  admiration,  —  into  love,  he  had 
almost  said  to  himself,  but  that  thought  he  repu- 
diated in  a  blaze  of  hate.  Well,  that  was  past !  It 
was  hate  now,  and  swift  revenge.  To  Seth's  cha- 
otic, distraught  brain  it  counted  as  less  than  nothing 
that  the  man,  his  father,  had  that  day  risked  his 
life  —  faced  a  very  hideous  form  of  death  —  for 
him.  All  such  considerations  were  eaten  up  in  the 
cruel  flame  now  scorching  through  brain  and  vein 
and  nerve.  Presently  his  madness  concentrated  it- 


352  The  Heart  That  Knows 

self  to  a  purpose.  He  got  out  his  revolver,  exam- 
ined it,  slipped  it  into  his  hip  pocket,  and  slowly 
returned  to  his  hammock  on  the  deck. 

The  mate  had  left  for  his  own  hammock.  The 
captain  ordered  his  slung  near  Seth's,  imagining  he 
felt  a  current  of  air  there.  Before  he  fell  into  it, 
he  renewed  the  ice-pack  on  Seth's  head,  felt  his 
pulse,  grumbled,  and  gave  him  a  bitter  dose  to  ward 
off  what  he  regarded  as  a  threatened  fever.  The 
dose  contained  a  strong  opiate ;  and  in  spite  of  him- 
self, with  his  hand  resting  on  the  weapon  in  his 
pocket,  Seth  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep  which  lasted  till 
broad  daylight.  He  awoke  bewildered,  with  blood- 
shot eyes  and  a  sense  of  some  terrible,  but  inescap- 
able business  left  too  long  undone. 

He  was  not  much  more  than  well  awake  when 
he  saw  the  mate  approaching,  —  but  not  alone. 
The  second  mate,  who  had  just  been  having  himself 
sluiced  down  with  the  deck-hose,  came  with  him, 
draped  in  a  bath-sheet.  Seth  reluctantly  removed 
his  hand  from  his  pocket,  and  answered  their  civil 
inquiries  civilly  enough,  as  he  thought.  But  there 
was  something  in  his  eyes,  and  in  his  voice,  which 
made  the  mate  instantly  solicitous.  His  eyes  sof- 
tened with  anxious  concern.  He  scrutinized  Seth's 
face,  felt  his  pulse,  smiled  at  him  tenderly,  and  went 
at  once  for  the  captain  and  the  captain's  medicine- 
chest. 


Seth's  Father  353 


"  Knows  more  than  most  doctors,  he  does !  "  said 
Mr.  Tinker,  with  confidence,  jerking  his  thumb  ad- 
miringly toward  Callahan's  retreating  form. 

Seth  looked  at  the  assured  little  cockney  with  a 
sense  of  confused  rage  and  something  like  a  snarl 
on  his  lips. 

"  Feelin'  pretty  bad,  aren't  you?"  said  Tinker, 
sympathetically.  "  That  belayin'-pin  on  your  nut's 
given  you  a  touch  of  fever,  eh?  You're  lookin'  a 
bit  wild  this  mornin'.  But  Callahan'll  fix  you  up  all 
right,  —  him  an'  the  captain.  What  the  one  don't 
know,  t'other  does."  And  Mr.  Tinker,  in  his  white 
toga,  drifted  off  to  get  into  his  proper  clothes. 

With  the  pain  still  thumping  in  his  head,  with 
the  bewilderment  of  the  opiate,  with  the  anguish 
of  rage  in  his  heart  confused  with  another  anguish 
which  he  had  not  yet  differentiated  or  compre- 
hended, Seth  was  indeed,  as  Mr.  Tinker  said  he 
looked,  "  a  bit  wild."  The  suggestion  caught  him. 
Hitherto  he  had  had  but  one  thought,  that  of  wiping 
out  in  blood  the  dishonour  of  his  mother  and  of 
himself.  He  had  not  troubled  to  think  of  the  pen- 
alty he  would  himself  have  to  pay.  He  took  it  as  a 
matter  of  course  that  he  would  hang  for  it;  and 
in  the  grip  of  his  black  obsession  he  had  not  let 
himself  think  of  the  awful,  lifelong  misery  he  would 
himself  be  inflicting  upon  the  mother  whom  he  was 
trying  to  avenge.  Now,  however,  it  occurred  to 


354  The  Heart  That  Knows 

him  that  he  ought  to  save  himself,  for  his  mother's 
sake.  They  thought  him  out  of  his  head.  He 
would  let  them  think  so.  If  he  killed  any  one  now, 
his  delirium,  not  he,  would  bear  the  blame.  He 
shrank,  blind  and  warped  though  his  brain  was,  — 
he  shrank  from  the  cowardliness  of  taking  shelter 
behind  his  sickness.  But,  thinking  of  his  mother's 
lonely  sorrow,  if  she  should  lose  him,  he  threw  that 
scruple  to  the  winds.  He  was  going  to  punish  her 
betrayer,  at  whatever  cost.  But,  also,  he  was  going 
to  save  himself  for  her,  if  he  could. 

At  this  point  in  his  toilsome  pondering,  when 
every  thought  seemed  like  a  thumping  hammer  in 
his  brain,  a  new  idea  caught  at  him.  What  real 
proof  had  he  that  this  man  was  Jim  Calder?  He 
was  sure,  of  course,  —  but  his  assurance  had  noth- 
ing to  depend  on  but  intuition.  Could  he  kill  such 
a  man  as  the  mate,  on  the  strength  of  an  intuition  ? 
Did  he  not  know  himself  to  be  half  out  of  his  head, 
with  pain  and  hate  and  misery?  Might  not  his 
very  certainty  be  a  figment  of  his  delirium  ?  When 
first  this  thought  took  hold  upon  him,  he  resented 
it,  feverishly,  because  it  seemed  to  deny  him  the 
release  he  craved,  the  release  of  immediate,  irreme- 
diable action,  and  then  —  rest.  But  as  soon  as  he 
had  convinced  himself  that  he  was  no  longer  capable 
of  such  action,  without  proofs  more  tangible  than 
he  possessed,  then  he  clutched  passionately  at  the 


Seth's  Father  355 


hope  that  this  man  Callahan  might,  after  all,  not 
be  his  father.  If  only  that  might  be,  he  thought, 
how  he  would  love  him,  the  tender  comrade,  the 
strong,  indomitable  friend ! 

In  the  semi-tranced  condition  to  which  he  had 
wrought  himself,  Seth  felt  positive  that  he  would 
find  the  proofs  he  sought,  which  would  settle  the 
matter  one  way  or  the  other  beyond  possibility  of 
doubt,  in  the  mate's  bunk  or  in  his  chest.  This  idea 
came  to  him  with  a  certainty  which,  if  he  had  been 
quite  himself,  would  have  seemed  to  him  absurd. 
Now,  however,  he  simply  waited,  in  trembling 
eagerness,  till  the  captain  had  brought  him  some 
medicine,  which  he  swallowed  without  opening  his 
eyes  or  taking  the  trouble  to  say  thank  you. 

No  sooner  had  the  captain  gone  than  Seth  slipped 
from  his  hammock.  For  a  moment  he  had  to  steady 
himself,  and  things  turned  black  before  his  eyes. 
This  dizziness  passed  at  once,  however;  and  he 
stole  down  to  the  cabin.  He  found  it  deserted,  of 
course,  every  one  being  on  deck  for  the  sake  of 
whatever  air  was  to  be  had.  It  was  the  mate's 
watch,  and  Seth  felt  himself  safe,  for  a  few  minutes 
at  least,  from  all  surveillance. 

Seth  went  straight  to  Callahan's  chest  and  flung 
it  open.  With  the  curious  intuition  which  some- 
times seems  to  serve  those  who  are  in  an  unnatural 
condition  of  nerves  and  brain,  he  plunged  his  hand 


356  The  Heart  That  Knows 

down  deep  into  the  right  front  corner  of  the  box, 
through  garments  of  various  kinds,  till  his  fingers 
closed  confidently  on  a  small  book.  He  pulled  it 
forth.  It  was  a  worn  and  battered  little  Bible, 
bound  in  dark  red  leather.  Seth  felt,  for  an  instant, 
afraid  to  open  it.  Shaking  so  that  he  could  hardly 
control  his  fingers,  he  turned  to  the  yellow  fly-leaf. 
There  he  saw,  in  a  handwriting  that  was  dear  and 
familiar,  a  somewhat  faded  inscription. 

To  James  Ellison  Calder 

on  the  Day  of  his  Confirmation 
with  the  loving  friendship  of 

G.  G.  Goodridge, 
Westcock, 
July  27th,  1871. 

Seth  dropped  the  worn  little  book  back  into  the 
chest,  closed  the  lid  with  a  kind  of  anguished  awe, 
and  fled  back  upon  deck.  For  an  hour  he  lay  mo- 
tionless in  his  hammock,  with  his  face  covered  so 
that  no  one  might  see  it. 

He  had  now  no  longer  any  shadow  of  hesitation. 
His  purpose  was  so  focussed  and  so  fixed  that  he 
experienced  a  certain  sense  of  relief.  What  he  had 
to  do  seemed  so  inevitable  that  he  no  longer  had  to 
think  at  all,  but  only  to  wait.  He  had  drawn  up 
about  him  the  folds  of  a  brilliant  silk  shawl  which 
he  had  bought  for  his  mother  in  Calcutta.  Under 
the  shelter  of  this  he  kept  his  right  hand  in  his 


Seth's  Father  357 


trousers'  pocket,  gripping  the  butt  of  his  revol- 
ver. 

Presently  he  heard  some  one  coming.  He  knew 
the  steps.  They  set  his  heart  turning  over  and  over 
like  a  falling  paper.  It  was  the  mate,  coming  to 
give  him  another  dose  of  medicine.  When  he 
spoke,  Seth  looked  up  at  him  with  a  red-eyed,  sul- 
len stare,  —  in  answer  to  which  the  mate  but  smiled 
the  more  gently. 

"  You  must  take  this,  lad,"  said  he,  "  though  I 
reckon  you'll  find  it  don't  taste  very  good.  It'll 
cool  down  the  fever  that's  setting  your  blood  afire." 

His  whole  being  centred  upon  his  deadly  purpose, 
Seth  had  no  power  or  even  thought  to  resist  the 
administering  of  the  medicine.  He  swallowed  the 
dose  obediently,  but  in  dogged  silence,  giving  the 
mate  a  look  of  strange,  lurking  menace,  which  the 
latter  took  for  an  impersonal  flash  of  delirium.  As 
the  mate,  with  a  little  smile  of  understanding  com- 
radeship, turned  away  and  started  up  the  deck,  Seth 
slowly  drew  the  revolver  from  his  pocket.  The 
mate's  straight  back  presented  a  fair  target.  Seth 
thought  of  his  mother,  of  the  misery  and  dishonour 
this  man  had  wrought  upon  her  life,  of  the  inefface- 
able stigma  ruthlessly  branded  upon  himself.  His 
fevered  face  went  white  as  death,  his  mouth  set 
itself  savagely,  and  he  half-raised  himself  in  the 
hammock.  But  even  at  that  instant,  in  spite  pf 


358  The  Heart  That  Knows 

himself,  something  seemed  to  take  him  in  the  throat. 
He  saw  again  that  look  of  tender,  almost  brooding 
love  which  he  had  surprised  in  the  mate's  eyes 
as  they  bent  over  him,  on  his  return  to  conscious- 
ness. That  look,  in  some  inexplicable  way,  dis- 
armed him,  turning  him  weak  and  helpless.  He 
stuck  the  revolver  back  into  his  pocket,  trembling, 
and  hid  his  face  again  with  a  corner  of  the  bright 
shawl.  To  his  amazement  —  for  he  did  not  realize 
how  sick  he  was  —  he  found  his  eyes  overflowing. 
For  some  time  he  lay,  with  his  face  covered,  curs- 
ing and  wondering  at  the  incomprehensible  weak- 
ness which  had  plucked  him  back  from  vengeance. 
He  could  not  get  rid  of  the  memory  of  that  look  in 
the  mate's  eyes.  Then  another  memory  came  up 
beside  it,  —  of  the  high,  gay,  dauntless  courage  in 
the  mate's  face  as  he  stood  there  under  the  dance- 
hall  lanterns,  fighting  single-handed  the  ruffians 
who  had  murdered  poor  Steffan.  He  thought,  too, 
of  the  confident  joy  which  had  sprung  into  the 
mate's  eyes,  at  the  sight  of  him  darting  to  the  rescue. 
He  found  himself,  even,  thrilling  with  pride,  at  the 
knowledge  that  this  brave  yet  tender  man,  this  in- 
comparable and  smiling  fighter,  was  his  father. 
When  he  realized  this  emotion  in  himself,  rage,  at 
himself  as  well  as  at  the  mate,  almost  overwhelmed 
him.  Already  half-hysterical,  half-delirious,  with 
his  hurt,  the  drugs  he  had  taken,  and  the  mad  war- 


Seth's  Father  359 


fare  convulsing  his  heart,  he  with  difficulty  re- 
strained himself  from  springing  up  and  rushing  to 
find  the  mate,  and  shooting  him  down  before  the 
eyes  of  all.  But  he  thought  of  his  mother,  not  only 
dishonoured,  but  then  childless  also.  And  with  the 
thought  of  her,  he  steadied  himself  once  more.  She 
was  his  great  love.  It  was  not  enough,  he  told  him- 
self, over  and  over  again,  that  he  should  avenge  her 
honour.  He  must  try  and  save  her  happiness,  by 
saving  himself  for  her.  And  yet,  even  through  the 
semi-insanity  of  the  lust  for  revenge,  which  was 
now  regaining  its  grip  upon  him,  he  realized  that 
after  killing  this  man,  —  his  father,  as  he  now  kept 
calling  him,  —  he  would  crave  nothing  so  much  as 
instant  death  for  himself.  With  this  realization  an 
intense  longing  grasped  him  and  shook  him,  an  in- 
tolerable longing  for  the  touch  of  the  man's  hand, 
the  sound  of  his  voice.  He  buried  his  head  deeper 
under  the  shawl,  and  found  himself  weeping  like  a 
child,  in  his  weakness. 

Then  he  checked  himself,  stiffening  up  his  whole 
body,  in  the  violent  recovery  of  his  resolve.  Set- 
ting his  teeth  till  the  ache  in  them  seemed  to  numb 
the  ache  in  his  head,  he  gripped  the  butt  of  his 
revolver  again,  and  waited. 

In  this  tense  stillness,  with  the  confusion  in  his 
head  mingling  curiously  with  the  confusion  of 
sounds  which  now  arose  all  over  the  ship  as  a  light 


360  The  Heart  That  Knows 

breeze  began  to  ruffle  the  glassy  water,  he  fell  into 
a  feverish  sleep.  Suddenly,  he  was  awakened.  His 
last  thought,  as  he  fell  asleep,  had  been  his  ven- 
geance. It  was  his  first,  his  instant  thought,  now, 
as  he  awoke. 

The  mate's  solicitous  face  was  bending  over  him, 
in  his  hand  a  glass  of  medicine.  Dashing  the  glass 
across  the  deck,  Seth  struck  upward  with  his  left 
fist,  catching  Callahan  fair  in  the  mouth,  though 
at  such  close  quarters  that  the  blow  had  small  force. 
At  the  same  moment  he  jerked  the  revolver  from 
his  pocket.  Before  he  could  turn  the  muzzle  up, 
however,  both  his  wrists  were  seized,  in  such  a  grip 
of  steel  that  his  fingers  opened  straight  out,  and 
the  revolver  dropped  from  the  hammock  to  the 
deck. 

"There,  lad!  Steady!  Steady!  It's  all  right, 
lad.  There!  There!"  murmured  the  mate,  softly, 
with  soothing  and  command.  Under  the  spell  of 
his  words,  and  of  that  compelling  grip,  the  boy's 
desperate  tension  gave  way.  Nerve  and  muscle  fell 
to  utter  slackness.  His  wild  and  drawn  face  re- 
laxed, as  wax  melts  in  a  flame;  and  he  looked  up 
piteously.  The  mate  let  go  of  his  wrists. 

"  Poor  lad,"  he  said,  smiling  down  at  him.  "  I 
woke  you  too  quick.  You  were  in  a  fever  dream,  I 
reckon.  Were  you  back  in  the  dance-hall  at  Singa- 
pore?" 


Seth's  Father  361 


When  Seth  looked  up  at  his  father's  bruised  and 
bleeding  lips,  something  seemed  to  break  in  his 
heart,  or  in  his  brain,  he  knew  not  which.  He  sud- 
denly felt  as  if  he  were  a  little  boy,  long  lost,  whose 
father  had  just  found  him. 

"  Oh,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sobbing  gasp,  "  I've 
hurt  you ! "  and  catching  the  mate's  hand  in  both 
of  his  he  crushed  it  to  his  mouth,  and  clung  to  it 
passionately,  and  hid  his  face  with  it. 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  mate  said  nothing,  and 
did  not  move.  Then  he  passed  his  hand  caress- 
ingly over  Seth's  hands. 

"  There,  dear  lad,  don't  worry  about  it !  "  said  he. 
"  The  way  you  were  lying,  and  me  so  close,  you 
didn't  get  any  strength  into  the  blow,  —  lucky  for 
me,  for  I've  seen  what  that  left  of  yours  can  do 
when  it's  got  a  fair  show!  You  didn't  know  what 
you  were  doing.  You  were  clear  out  of  your  head 
for  a  minute.  I  saw  that  in  your  eyes.  What  can 
a  little  thing  like  that  matter,  between  comrades  like 
us  two,  that's  stood  for  each  other  with  our  lives? 
Let  me  go  now,  lad,  an'  get  you  some  more  of  the 
medicine  you  spilt.  I  guess  you'll  be  better  soon, 
anyway,  now  the  heat's  broke,  and  we've  got  a  good 
fresh  breeze  on  our  beam !  " 

But  Seth  still  clung  tight  to  his  hand,  while  he 
furtively  dried  his  eyes  on  his  shirt-sleeve.  Then, 
looking  up  with  a  ghost  of  a  smile,  he  let  the  man 


362  The  Heart  That  Knows 

see  a  glimpse  of  the  ardour  of  devotion  that  was 
surging  up  within  him. 

"  I  am  better,  already,"  said  he.  "  You've  saved 
more  than  my  life,  I  think!  I  feel  well.  I  feel  as 
if,  all  of  a  sudden,  I'd  never  been  so  well  before. 
I  don't  need  any  more  medicine." 

But  the  mate  shook  his  head  positively,  and 
laughed. 

"  Not  five  minutes  ago,"  he  protested,  "  you  were 
that  luny  you  were  trying  to  smash  in  my  face,  and 
you  wanted  to  shoot  me,  in  the  bargain.  Now, 
you're  feeling  so  well  you  think  you'll  get  out  of 
takin'  any  more  medicine.  No,  sir-ree!  I'm  going 
for  another  dose  for  you.  And  don't  you  fall  asleep 
again  while  I'm  gone,  or  I'll  be  scared  to  give  it  to 
you!" 

"  All  right !  "  laughed  Seth',  his  heart  leaping 
with  such  sudden  gladness  that  he  had  to  laugh, 
though  half-fearful  that  his  joy  might  be  mistaken 
for  light-headedness.  "  I'll  take  anything  you  have 
to  give  me!  "  he  added,  cryptically. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

WHAT   THE   HEART   KNOWS 

THOUGH  Seth  knew  that  he  was  now  in  no  more 
need  of  medicine,  that  his  body's  sickness  was  no 
longer  anything,  since  the  deadly  sickness  of  the 
spirit  had  passed  from  him,  he  felt  that  it  was  only 
reasonable  that  he  should  not  seem  to  recover  too 
instantaneously.  He  took  his  dose,  sat  up  and  com- 
mented on  the  breeze  that  was  driving  the  Mary  of 
Teck  through  the  roughened  and  white-capped 
water,  then  lay  down  again  and  closed  his  eyes. 
He  was  grateful  for  the  opportunity  to  think,  to 
adjust  himself  to  the  overwhelming  change  which 
he  knew  had  taken  place  within  his  heart. 

With  a  vast  illumination  lightening  every  dark 
corner  of  his  soul,  it  had  come  to  him  that  he  loved 
this  man,  Jim  Callahan,  or  Jim  Calder,  who  was 
his  father,  with  a  like  great  love  to  that  which  he 
bore  his  mother.  It  had  come  to  him  that  his  life- 
purpose  of  revenge  was  for  ever  and  ever  made 
impossible.  He  could  no  more  kill  his  father  than 
he  could  kill  his  mother.  If  his  father  had  been 
guilty  of  an  unspeakable  wrong,  then  it  was  evi- 

363 


364  The  Heart  That  Knows 

dent  in  his  face  that  he  had  borne  long  and  bitter 
sorrow  on  account  of  it.  If  his  father  deserved 
more  punishment  than  he  had  yet  received,  then 
let  life,  or  fate,  or  God,  inflict  it.  He  felt  that  he 
could  no  longer  even  judge  between  his  father  and 
his  mother.  But  of  one  thing  he  grew  presently 
assured;  and  the  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more 
assured  he  grew.  Such  a  man  as  this  could  never 
have  wilfully  betrayed  such  a  woman  as  Luella 
Warden.  If  he  had  done  it  in  a  moment  of  ob- 
session, in  the  clutch  of  some  overwhelming  tempta- 
tion, such  a  man  as  this  would  not  have  hesitated 
to  come  back,  and  humble  himself,  and  devote  his 
life  to  reparation.  Seth  saw  that  there  had  been 
some  frightful  mistake.  And  in  his  new  vision,  in 
the  inspiration  of  his  love  and  hope,  he  came  very 
near  the  truth.  He  told  himself  that  both  his  father 
and  his  mother  had  been  the  victims  of  some  third 
person's  treachery.  They  had  both  been  betrayed. 
As  it  all  cleared  itself  so  in  his  mind,  he  saw  himself 
so  clearing  it  in  their  minds,  also.  Then  such  a 
great  hope,  such  a  glad  confidence  for  the  future 
arose  in  him  that  he  could  no  longer  contain  him- 
self in  his  hammock.  He  could  no  longer  play 
the  invalid,  with  his  heart-shouting  triumph  and  his 
eyes  bright  with  happiness.  He  sprang  up,  threw 
away  the  ice-pack  from  his  head,  and  started  for 
the  cabin,  intending  to  wash  up,  and  shave,  and 


What  the  Heart  Knows  365 

dress,  and  enter  upon  a  new  life  clean.  But  he  had 
not  gone  half  a  dozen  paces  when  Callahan,  who 
had  been  keeping  watch,  hurried  up  with  anxiety  in 
his  face,  evidently  fearing  a  return  of  the  madness. 

"  What're  you  up  to,  lad?  "  he  demanded.  "  You 
mustn't  be  running  round.  An'  you  mustn't  take 
the  ice  off  your  head  yet !  " 

Seth  turned  upon  him  the  face  of  a  well  and 
happy  man. 

"I  can't  help  it,  but  I'm  well!"  he  answered, 
gaily.  "  There  ain't  a  thing  the  matter  with  me 
now,  but  a  little  bump  on  the  back  of  my  head.  The 
reason  I'm  well  so  quick  is  because  you're  such  a 
great  doctor,  Mr.  Callahan." 

His  father  looked  at  him  searchingly.  There 
was  no  delirium  in  his  face.  His  eyes  were  steady. 
He  felt  his  pulse,  and  found  it  almost  normal. 

"You  do  seem  pretty  fit!"  he  acknowledged. 
"  I  guess  you'll  have  to  have  your  own  way.  But 
you  needn't '  Mister  '  me,  lad.  If  any  two  men  have 
a  right  to  be  comrades,  it's  you  an'  me.  Call  me 
Jim." 

Seth  flushed,  in  an  embarrassment  that  seemed 
to  amuse  the  mate. 

"  Well,  Jim,  if  you  don't  mind,"  said  he,  "  I'm 
going  to  fix  up  a  bit,  and  be  right  as  a  trivet.  I 
guess  this  wind  has  blowed  the  vapours  out  of  my 
brain." 


366          The  Heart  That  Knows 

He  turned  and  went  below,  leaving  Jim  smit- 
ten with  a  pang-  of  memory  and  longing.  That 
phrase,  "  right  as  a  trivet,"  was  one  which  he  had 
never  heard  any  but  the  rector  use. 

During  the  rest  of  the  voyage  to  Hongkong, 
both  the  captain  and  Mr.  Tinker  commented  on 
Seth's  high  spirits,  as  compared  with  his  former 
sombre  mood. 

"  Belaying-pins  will  work  wonders,  once  in  a 
while !  "  remarked  Mr.  Tinker.  And  the  captain 
suggested  that  Seth  was  very  much  indebted  to 
Bill  Jenkins's  lucky  shot. 

Before  reaching  Hongkong,  Seth  wrote  a  long, 
jubilant  letter  to  his  mother  and  Mrs.  Bembridge 
conjointly.  No  small  portion  of  it  was  occupied 
with  an  account  of  his  new  comrade,  Jim  Callahan, 
the  mate  of  the  Mary  of  Teck.  The  mate's  cour- 
age and  brilliancy  in  the  single-hand  fight  in  de- 
fence of  Steffan's  body,  his  heroism  in  jumping 
overboard  among  the  sharks  to  save  so  unimportant 
a  life  as  that  of  the  quartermaster,  his  skill,  and 
tenderness,  and  care  as  a  nurse,  all  these  matters 
lost  nothing  in  Seth's  enthusiastic  telling.  And 
when,  nearly  two  months  later,  the  two  lonely 
women  read  and  re-read  that  letter  together,  Mrs. 
Bembridge's  little  black  cap  and  magenta  sontag 
beside  Luella's  abundant  fair  hair  and  broad  white 


What  the  Heart  Knows  367 

brow,  there  were  tears  of  wondering  gratitude  for 
the  stranger  who  had  saved  for  them  their  boy. 

When  the  ship  reached  Hongkong,  Seth  put  his 
letter  into  the  box  in  the  cabin,  with  the  rest  of  the 
mail,  which  the  captain  was  going  to  take  ashore, 
and  stamp,  and  post.  Now,  as  it  chanced,  into  the 
same  mail  the  mate  had  dropped  a  letter  addressed 
to  his  tailor  in  Singapore.  An  hour  later  he  hap- 
pened to  remember  that  he  had  addressed  it 
wrongly.  Hurrying  into  the  cabin,  he  began  to  sort 
the  mail  over,  looking  for  his  own  letter. 

At  this  moment  Seth  came  along,  saw  what  the 
mate  was  doing,  and  halted  at  the  door  in  great 
trepidation.  He  was  not  yet  prepared  to  reveal 
himself  to  his  father. 

"That  you,  Seth?"  asked  the  mate,  without 
looking  up,  as  he  ran  the  letters  over  beneath  his 
ringers. 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  starting  as  though  he  had 
been  struck  in  the  face.  All  the  letters  but  one 
dropped  from  his  hands  on  to  the  cabin  table.  That 
one  he  lifted  up,  staring  at  the  address.  Seth  saw 
his  father  grow  as  white  as  chalk,  his  mouth  twitch 
with  pain.  The  address  was : 

Mrs.  Luella  Warden, 

Westcock, 

Westmoreland  Co., 

New  Brunswick,  Canada. 


368  The  Heart  That  Knows 

For  what  seemed  to  Seth  an  age  Callahan  stared 
at  that  address.  Then  he  looked  up.  In  his  eyes 
was  a  bitterness  of  pain  which  Seth  had  never  seen 
on  any  face  before. 

"  You  know — ?  "  he  began,  in  a  strained  voice, 
which  failed  him  before  he  could  complete  the  ques- 
tion. 

But  it  did  not  need  completion. 

"  Yes,"  said  Seth,  softly,  looking  deep  into  his 
eyes.  "  She  is  my  mother !  "  And  he  hungered  to 
throw  his  arms  around  the  man's  shoulders. 

But  to  this  he  had  small  encouragement.  His 
father  stared  at  him  wildly  for  several  seconds,  in 
dead  silence.  Then  he.  dropped  the  letter  on  the 
pile,  and  hurriedly,  half-blindly,  left  the  cabin. 

For  hours  the  mate  avoided  Seth,  with  obvious 
intention.  The  captain  went  ashore  and  returned. 
The  Mary  of  Teck  was  towed  to  her  berth.  Every 
one  was  busy.  But  Seth  hardly  knew  what  his 
hands  were  doing,  so  terrible  were  his  excitement 
and  anxiety.  What  his  father's  attitude  meant, 
he  dared  not  try  to  guess.  He  could  only  wait,  tor- 
tured by  his  suspense. 

At  last,  in  the  evening,  when  he  was  standing 
alone  by  the  rail,  far  away  from  all  the  rest,  his 
father  came  up  suddenly  and  stood  beside  him. 

"  You  must  have  thought  it  queer,  lad,"  said  he, 


What  the  Heart  Knows  369 

"  the  way  I  acted  this  morning.  It  was  queer.  But 
I  couldn't  help  it.  Forgive  me,  lad !  " 

"I'd  forgive  you  anything,  I  guess!"  replied 
Seth.  "  But  it  did  hurt,"  he  added,  boyishly. 

"You're  my  comrade!"  said  his  father.  "I 
haven't  known  you  long,  it's  true,  but  some  way 
I've  come  to  care  more  for  you  than  for  any  other 
man  on  earth.  I  couldn't  stand  it,  now,  to  let  any- 
thing come  between  us,  for  I've  seen  it  in  your  face 
that  you  —  kind  of  like  me,  too,  you  know,  lad. 
Such  things  show  themselves,  without  much  bein' 
said.  But  now  it  seems  to  me  —  I  ought  to  tell  you 
something." 

Here  he  paused.  And  Seth,  after  waiting  breath- 
lessly for  a  moment,  thrust  out  his  hand. 

"Tell  me  —  what?"  he  asked,  in  a  trembling 
voice. 

"Your  mother!"  said  the  man,  grasping  Seth's 
hand  strongly.  "  Your  mother !  I  knew  her  once. 
I  knew  her  well !  " 

"  You  knew  her,"  repeated  Seth,  in  a  voice  of 
assent. 

"  I  loved  her,"  said  the  man.  "  I  loved  her  with 
all  my  heart.  An'  she  took  my  heart  in  her  hands, 
an'  broke  it  to  little  bits,  an'  all  my  life  with  it." 

Seth  started  to  withdraw  his  hand,  but  gently. 

"  Oh,  it  ain't  that,"  went  on  the  mate,  in  haste, 
tightening  his  grip.  "  It  wasn't  that  made  me  keep 


370  The  Heart  That  Knows 

clear  of  you,  when  I  found  out  you  were  her  son. 
I  forgave  her;  an'  I  love  her  now,  an'  I've  never  in 
all  these  years  loved  any  other  woman  but  her.  It 
wasn't  that  made  me  so  queer  to  you,  till  I'd  got  a 
chance  to  see  into  my  own  heart." 

"  Then — won't  you  tell  me  what  it  was?  "  asked 
Seth,  his  heart  beating  so  quickly  that  he  could 
hardly  speak. 

"  It  was  —  knowing  something  that  can't  make 
any  difference  to  me  now,  lad.  You're  just  Lu- 
ella  Warden's  son,  the  son  of  the  woman  I  love,  — 
and  you're  my  chum,  ain't  you,  lad?  " 

Before  Seth's  mind  came  up  now  certain  words 
which  the  old  farmer  had  spoken  on  the  day  of  the 
picnic.  He  understood. 

"  Yes,  always,  I  believe,"  he  answered,  soberly, 
returning  the  grip  of  Callahan's  hand.  "  But  I 
want  you  to  tell  what  that  something  was,  that  can't 
make  any  difference  now." 

"  Why,"  responded  the  mate,  with  difficulty,  "  if 
you  insist,  —  it  was  knowing  that  you  were  the  son 
of  that  man,  —  the  man  that  had  wronged  your 
mother  and  ruined  my  life.  But  let  us  forget  all 
that,  dear  lad.  He's  dead  and  gone,  long  years  ago. 
You  never  knew  him.  You're  just  her  son!  An' 
maybe  that's  why  I  loved  you  first ;  though  I  know 
it's  for  your  own  sake  I  love  you  now ! " 


What  the  Heart  Knows  371 

Seth  disengaged  his  hand,  and  caught  both  the 
man's  shoulders. 

"  The  man  that  wronged  my  mother,  an'  ruined 
your  life,  —  an'  hers,  an'  mine,  —  he's  not  dead. 
He's  right  here,  before  me  now!  Before  God,  I 
am  your  son,  father" 

At  these  words  Callahan  drew  back,  and  stood 
staring.  Then  he  began  to  shake,  so  that  he  could 
hardly  stand. 

"It  ain't  possible!  No,  no,  it  ain't  possible!" 
he  muttered.  "  Would  to  God  that  it  could  be  true! 
Lad,  lad,  I'd  give  my  right  hand  if  it  could  be  true ! 
I'd  give  my  life,  so  gladly !  But  I  saw  her  letter  to 
him,  —  with  my  own  eyes  I  saw  it !  " 

"Oh,  father,"  pleaded  Seth,  "what  are  letters? 
They  can  be  forged.  What's  anything,  in  compari- 
son with  what  the  heart  knows?  Don't  you  know 
I'm  your  son,  your  own  son?  Don't  I  know  you're 
my  own,  my  very  own  father?  Somebody  has  lied 
to  you,  father.  Somebody  has  cheated  us  all,  hid- 
eously, vilely.  Somebody  has  forged  letters,  if  it's 
letters  you  are  thinking  of.  Think,  think  how  easy 
some  one  could  forge  a  letter,  some  one  that  wanted 
to  get  you  away  from  her.  But  I'm  your  son,  and 
your  heart  knows  it,  father.  We've  known  each 
other  from  the  start,  haven't  we,  father  ?  "  And 
Seth  strove  to  draw  his  father  to  him. 

But  his  father  held  back,  though  tenderly,  and 


372  The  Heart  That  Knows 

looked  at  him  with  hungry,  wondering,  doubting 
eyes. 

"  Is  it  possible  she  could  have  forged  that  let- 
ter?" he  muttered,  searching  Setlrs  face  as  if  to 
find  the  answer  there.  "  Oh,  lad,  if  it  could  be  pos- 
sible!" 

"Who,  father?"  demanded  Seth,  breathlessly. 
But  his  father  did  not  notice  the  question. 

"  It  is  possible,"  he  went  on,  the  conviction 
breaking  in  upon  his  heart.  "  She  was  very  clever. 
She  was  clever  enough  to  do  it.  And  she  loved 
me  enough  to  do  anything.  I  see  it  all  now.  But, 
oh,  lad,  lad,  what  bitter  wrong,  what  cruel  wrong, 
I've  been  doing  your  mother  all  these  years!  An' 
thinkin'  it  was  me  was  the  wronged  one!  It  was 
like  a  murder !  And  you,  lad,  —  you,  my  own 
boy,  how  can  you  bear  to  look  at  me,  after  what 
I've  done  to  you  an'  her?  "  And  he  turned  away, 
that  Seth  might  not  see  the  working  of  his  face. 

But  Seth  put  his  arms  around  him.  "  Don't  let's 
think  of  the  past,  father!  Let's  just  think  of  the 
future,  —  an'  of  how  our  hearts  knew  each  other 
in  spite  of  everything  —  and  of  what  it's  going 
to  mean  to  mother !  " 

His  father  turned,  held  him  close,  and  looked  at 
him. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  lad,  you  are  my  son,"  said  he. 
"  My  heart  was  trying  to  tell  it  to  me  all  the  time, 


What  the  Heart  Knows  373 

ever  since  I  met  you;  but  I  didn't  know  the  lan- 
guage !  Boy,  we  will  go  home  to  your  mother ;  and 
together,  you  and  I,  we  will  make  her  understand, 
—  and,  perhaps,  forgive  me !  " 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

THE   BREATH    OF   THE   TIDE   AND   LILAC   BLOOMS 

IT  was  two  months  later  when  Jim  and  Seth 
found  themselves  once  more  approaching  the  coun- 
try of  the  Tantramar.  It  had  been  Jim's  wish  to 
start  for  home  as  soon  as  the  ship  reached  Hong- 
kong, leaving  by  the  very  first  steamer  for  Van- 
couver. But  Seth  had  appealed  for  delay.  It  had 
been  his  argument  that  letters  should  be  allowed 
time  to  reach  Westcock  two  or  three  weeks  ahead 
of  them,  to  prepare  their  way.  The  wisdom  of  this 
was  obvious.  And  Jim,  having  waited  twenty  years 
at  his  own  instance,  had  reluctantly  compelled  him- 
self to  wait  two  weeks  at  Seth's. 

In  these  twenty  years  there  had  been  changes  at 
Tantramar.  Instead  of  coming  by  schooner  up  the 
Bay  of  Fundy  from  St.  John,  they  came  all  the  way 
through  by  rail,  getting  off  at  the  little  way  station 
of  Bulmer's  Mills,  at  the  head  of  Frosty  Hollow, 
about  half-past  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Bul- 
mer's Mills  was  about  a  mile  behind  Westcock 
church,  in  the  Dorchester  woods. 

They  started  to  walk  homeward  through  the  first 
374 


The  Breath  of  the  Tide  375 

phantasmal  gray  of  the  June  dawn.  As  they  stood 
alone  together  in  the  narrow,  forest  road,  the  trees, 
bushes,  and  roadside  weeds  loaded  down  with  dew, 
the  still  air  cool  and  pungent  with  wild  essences 
loosed  by  the  wet,  Seth  and  his  father  turned  to 
each  other,  by  one  impulse,  looked  happily  into  each 
other's  eyes,  and  clasped  hands. 

"  About  a  half-hour's  walk,  eh,  lad,  an'  we'll  be 
home!  "  said  Jim. 

"  Yes,  father,"  Seth  answered,  with  a  soft  laugh, 
"  it's  just  about  as  far  now,  from  Bulmer's  Mills 
in  to  the  parsonage,  as  it  was  twenty  years  ago,  I 
guess !  An'  our  place  is  about  three  hundred  yards 
from  the  parsonage,  through  the  fir-pasture." 

As  they  passed  Westcock  church,  pale  fingers  of 
saffron  light  were  just  beginning  to  touch  the  cloud- 
wisps  in  the  eastern  sky,  above  the  fir- woods  of 
Westcock  hill;  but  the  little  gray  church  by  the 
roadside  was  still  sunken  in  the  dewy  shadow  of  its 
grove. 

They  passed  quietly  between  the  silent  cottages 
which  clustered  near  the  church,  hearing  no  sound 
but  the  crowing  of  the  cocks  who  were  now  begin- 
ning to  stir  on  their  roosts,  and  the  twitter  of  a  few 
awaking  birds.  Onward  up  the  rough,  rain-gullied 
road  over  Westcock  Hill  they  climbed,  pausing  to 
pick  a  few  wintergreen  leaves  as  they  had  each  done 
so  many  times  when  children.  Then  they  passed 


376  The  Heart  That  Knows 

the  old  cemetery,  with  its  graceful,  sheltering,  white 
birch-trees;  and  presently,  coming  out  on  the  open 
crest  of  the  ridge,  they  looked  down,  with  the  sun- 
rise in  their  faces,  upon  slumbering  Westcock  vil- 
lage and  the  mystical  wide-flung  levels  of  Tantra- 
mar. 

Here  they  paused  a  few  moments.  They 
could  see  the  chimneys  of  the  parsonage  rising 
among  its  dark  and  ancient  groves,  —  and  further 
to  the  right,  beyond  the  fir-pasture,  the  little  gray 
house  in  the  fields  which  Seth  called  home.  As  Jim 
looked  down  at  the  lonely  gray  house,  and  thought 
of  Luella,  —  now  surely  up,  and  dressed,  and  wait- 
ing, in  response  to  their  telegram  from  Montreal, 
—  his  heart  shook  with  doubt,  and  hope,  and  peni- 
tence, and  overwhelming  love.  But  Seth  had  no 
doubts  whatever.  He  felt  very  sure  of  his  mother, 
and  very  sure  of  the  thoroughness  with  which  his 
letters  had  prepared  the  way  for  this  home-coming. 
Then,  suddenly,  beyond  the  pale  levels  of  the 
marshes,  beyond  the  vapourous  channels  of  the  river 
and  the  creeks,  beyond  the  gray  and  golden  bosom 
of  the  windless  bay,  over  the  low  ridge  of  Beause- 
jour  the  sun  came  up,  flooding  the  spaces  with  a 
tide  of  aerial  fire.  The  sudden  glory  thrilled  and 
dazzled  them.  Without  a  word  they  hurried  on 
down  the  hill  to  within  a  couple  of  hundred  yards 
of  the  parsonage  gate.  Here  they  turned  in,  along 


The  Breath  of  the  Tide  377 

the  rector's  "  Upper  Field,"  now  light  green  with 
young  barley.  From  the  Upper  Field  they  turned 
down  through  the  fir-pasture,  and  came  so,  over 
the  snake  fence  and  past  the  barn,  to  the  little  gray 
house  in  the  fields,  —  and  to  Luella,  standing  alone 
in  the  open  doorway,  with  arms  outstretched  to 
meet  them. 

From  Luella,  Jim  went  to  his  mother.  The  hard 
old  woman,  melted  to  gentleness  by  the  joy  of  his 
return,  made  her  peace  with  Luella  and  with  Seth. 
That  evening  —  although,  as  it  was  Tuesday,  there 
was  no  regular  service  —  the  little  Westcock  church 
was  opened  up.  As  the  rector  remarked,  there  had 
already  been  somewhat  more  delay  in  the  matter 
than  occasion  seemed  to  warrant;  so  he  was  will- 
ing even  to  disturb  the  routine  of  the  grumbling  old 
sexton.  On  the  edge  of  twilight,  therefore,  the  bell 
began  to  pulse  out  its  mellow  summons,  while  the 
night-hawks  were  swooping  and  twanging  across 
the  hollow  of  the  green  and  violet  sky.  As  the 
little  party  moved  up  the  hill  from  the  big  white 
gate  of  the  parsonage,  Mrs.  Bembridge  pulled  Lu- 
ella aside,  ostensibly  to  retie  a  defective  bow,  but 
in  reality  to  steal  a  chance  —  as  she  whispered  con- 
fidentially to  Mrs.  Goodridge  —  to  wipe  what  she 
was  pleased  to  call  her  "  drivelling  old  eyes  "  with- 
out "  that  old  Mrs.  Calder  "  seeing  her.  A  soft  air 
breathed  up  the  hillside  from  Tantramar,  bearing 


378  The  Heart  That  Knows 

with  it  the  rush  of  the  tide  as  it  returned  to  the 
empty  channels.  And  with  the  sound  came  the 
mingled  smell  of  the  salt,  the  purple  lilac  blooms, 
and  the  heavy,  honey-laden  clover. 


THE  END. 


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With  frontispiece  in  colour  by  John  C.  Frohn  .  .  .  $1.50 
The  London  Literary  World  says :  "  In  '  The  Idlers '  Mr.  Morley 
Roberts  does  for  the  smart  set  of  London  what  Mrs.  Wharton  has 
done  in  '  The  House  of  Mirth  '  for  the  American  social  class  of  the 
same  name.  His  primary  object  seems  to  be  realism,  the  portrayal 
of  life  as  it  is  without  exaggeration,  and  we  were  impressed  by  the 
reserve  displayed  by  the  novelist.  It  is  a  powerful  novel,  a  merci- 
less dissection  of  modern  society  similar  to  that  which  a  skilful  sur- 
geon would  make  of  a  pathological  case." 

The  New  York  Sun  says :  "  It  is  as  absorbing  as  the  devil.  Mr. 
Roberts  gives  us  the  antithesis  of  '  Rachel  Marr '  in  an  equally 
masterful  and  convincing  work." 

Professor  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts  says :  "  It  is  a  work  of  great 
ethical  force." 

Stand  Pat 

OR,  POKER  STORIES  FROM  BROWNVILLE.    By  DAVID  A.  CUR- 
TIS, author  of  "  Queer  Luck,"  etc. 

With  six  drawings  by  Henry  Roth $1.50 

Mr.  Curtis  is  the  poker  expert  of  the  New  York  Sun,  and  many 
of  the  stories  in  "  Stand  Pat "  originally  appeared  in  the  Sun.  Al- 
thomgh  in  a  sense  short  stories,  they  have  a  thread  of  continuity,  in 
that  the  principal  characters  appear  throughout.  Every  poker  player 
will  enjoy  Mr.  Curtis's  clever  recital  of  the  strange  luck  to  which 
Dame  Fortune  sometimes  treats  her  devotees  in  the  uncertain  game 
of  draw  poker,  and  will  appreciate  the  startling  coups  by  which  she 
is  occasionally  outwitted. 


4    I.  C.  PAGE  AND  COMPANY'S  LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 

The  Count  at  Harvard 

BEING  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  YOUNG 
GENTLEMAN  OF  FASHION  AT  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY.  By 
RUPERT  SARGENT  HOLLAND. 

With  a  characteristic  cover  design $1.50 

With  the  possible  exception  of  Mr.  Flandrau's  work,  the  "  Count 
at  Harvard  "  is  the  most  natural  and  the  most  truthful  exposition  of 
average  student  life  yet  written,  and  is  thoroughly  instinct  with  the 
real  college  atmosphere.  "  The  Count "  is  not  a  foreigner,  but  is 
the  nickname  of  one  of  the  principal  characters  in  the  book. 

The  story  is  clean,  bright,  clever,  and  intensely  amusing.  Typical 
Harvard  institutions,  such  as  the  Hasty  Pudding  Club,  The  Crimson, 
the  Crew,  etc.,  are  painted  with  deft  touches,  which  will  fill  the  soul 
of  every  graduate  with  joy,  and  be  equally  as  fascinating  to  all  college 
students. 

The  Heart  That  Knows 

By  CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  Red  Fox,"  "The  Heart 

of  the  Ancient  Wood,"  "  Barbara  Ladd,"  etc. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

This  is  a  story  of  the  fisher  and  sailor  folk  of  the  Tantramar 
marsh  country  about  the  head  of  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  —  a  region  of 
violent  tides,  of  vast,  fertile  salt  meadows  fenced  in  from  the  tides 
by  interminable  barriers  of  dyke,  —  and  of  a  strenuous,  adventurous 
people  who  occupy  themselves  with  all  the  romantic  business  of  the 
sea. 

The  passions  of  these  people  are  vehement,  like  their  tides,  but 
their  natures  have  much  of  the  depth,  richness,  and  steadfastness 
which  characterize  their  exhaustless  meadows. 

The  action  turns  upon  the  wisdom  of  the  heart  in  discerning  truth 
and  love  where  mere  reason  has  seen  but  gross  betrayal. 

Richard  Elliott,  Financier 

By  GEORGE  CARLING. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated  .  .  .  $1.50 
This  powerful  novel  has  for  its  theme  "  high  finance  "  and  the 
"system."  The  career  of  Richard  Elliott,  from  office  boy  to  Trust 
magnate,  is  set  down  with  a  vivid  and  scathing  pen,  and  his  mighty 
struggle  with  the  Standard  "  Wool "  Company,  rascal  against  rascal, 
brings  a  climax  which  foreshadows,  perhaps,  the  fate  of  our  own 
"  Money  Kings." 


Selections  from 

L.  C.  Page  and  Company's 

List  of  Fiction 


WORKS  OF 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 

Eack  one  vol.,  library  ismo,  cloth  decorative    .         .         . 
The  Flight  of  Georgiana 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  YOUNG  PRETENDER.  Illus- 
trated by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  A  love-story  in  the  highest  degree,  a  dashing  story,  and  a  r»- 
markably  well  finished  piece  of  work."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

The  Bright  Face  of  Danger 

Being  an  account  of  some  adventures  of  Henri  de  Launay,  son  of 

the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire.     Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  Mr.   Stephens   has  fairly   outdone    himself.       We   thank  him 

heartily.     The   story  is   nothing   if   not   spirited  and  entertaining, 

rational  and  convincing."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

The  Mystery  of  Murray  Davenport 

(40th  thousand.) 

"  This  is  easily  the  best  thing  that  Mr.  Stephens  has  yet  done. 
Those  familiar  with  his  other  novels  can  best  judge  the  measure  of 
this  praise,  which  is  generous."  —  Buffalo  News. 

Captain  Ravenshaw 

OR,  THE  MAID  OF  CHEAPSIDE.  (52d  thousand.)  A  romance 
of  Elizabethan  London.  Illustrations  by  Howard  Pyle  and  other 
artists. 

Not  since  the  absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagnan  have  we  had 
anything  so  good  in  the  blended  vein  of  romance  and  comedy. 

The  Continental  Dragoon 

A  ROMANCE  OF  PHILIPSE  MANOR  HOUSE  m  1778.  (5jd 
thousand.)  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

A  stirring  romance  of  the  Revolution,  with  its  scene  laid  on 
neutral  territory. 


L.    C.  PAGE   AND    COMPANY'S 


Philip  Winwood 

(7Otk  thousand.)  A  Sketch  of  the  Domestic  History  of  an 
American  Captain  in  the  War  of  Independence,  embracing  events 
that  occurred  between  and  during  the  years  1763  and  1785  in 
New  York  and  London.  Illustrated  by  E.  W.  D.  Hamilton. 

An  Enemy  to  the  King 

(70th  thousand.)     From  the  "  Recently  Discovered  Memoirs   of 
the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire."     Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
An   historical  romance  of  the   sixteenth  century,  describing  the 

adventures  of  a  young  French  nobleman  at  the  court  of  Henry  III., 

and  on  the  field  with  Henry  IV. 

The  Road  to  Paris 

A   STORY  OK  ADVENTURE.      (35th  thousand.)      Illustrated  by 

H.  C.  Edwards. 

An  historical  romance  of  the  eighteenth  century,  being  an  account 
of  the  life  of  an  American  gentleman  adventurer  of  Jacobite  an- 
cestry. 

A  Gentleman  Player 

His  ADVENTURES  ON  A  SECRET  MISSION  FOR  QUEKN   ELIZA- 
BETH.    (48th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
The  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who  joins  Shakespeare's  com- 
pany of  players,  and  becomes  a  friend  and  protege  of  the  great 
poet. 

WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  U  ROBERTS 

Red  Pox 

THE  STORY  OF  His  ADVENTUROUS  CAREER  IN  THE  RINGWAAK 
WILDS,  AND  OF  His  FINAL  TRIUMPH  OVER  THE  ENEMIES  or 
His  KIND.  With  fifty  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in 
color  and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.00 

"  Infinitely  more  wholesome  reading  than  the  average   tale  of 

sport,  since  it  gives  a  glimpse  of  the  hunt  from  the  point  of  view  of 

the  hunted."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  True  in  substance  but  fascinating   as  fiction.     It  will  interest 

old  and  young,  city-bound  and  free-footed,  those  who  know  animals 

and  those  who  do  not."  —  Chicage  Record-Herald. 

"A  brilliant  chapter  in   natural   history."  —  Philadtlfhia  North 

Ameritan. 


The  Kindred  of  the  Wild 

A  BOOK  or  ANIMAL  LIFE.  With  fifty-one  full-page  plates  and 
many  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 

"  Is  in  many  ways  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  animal  stories 
that  has  appeared ;  well  named  and  well  done."  — Jthn  Burroughs. 

The  Watchers  of  the  Trails 

A   companion   volume   to   "  The  Kindred  of  the  Wild."     With 

forty-eight  full-page  plates  and  many  decorations  from  drawings 

by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 

"  Mr.  Roberts  has  written  a  most  interesting  series  of  tales  free 
from  the  vices  of  the  stories  regarding  animals  of  many  other 
writers,  accurate  in  their  facts  and  admirably  and  dramatically  told." 
—  Chicago  News. 

"  These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  robust 
in  their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  of  woodcraft. 
Am»ng  the  many  writers  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an 
enviable  place."  —  The  Outlook. 

"  This  is  a  book  full  of  delight.  An  additional  charm  lies  in  Mr. 
Bull's  faithful  and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion  all  their 
own  tell  the  story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and  supplementing 
the  pen  pictures  of  the  author."  —  Literary  Digest. 

Earth's  Enigmas 

A  new  edition  of  Mr.  Roberts's  first  volume  of  fiction,  published 
in  1892,  and  out  of  print  for  several  years,  with  the  addition  of 
three  new  stories,  and  ten  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull. 

Library  i  amo,  cloth,  decorative  cover         .        .        .        .11.50 

"  It   will   rank    high   among   collections   of    short    stories.       In 

'  Earth's  Enigmas  '  is  a  wider  range  of  subject  than  in  the  '  Kindred 

of  the  Wild.'  "  —  Review  from  advance  sheets  »f  the  illustrated  edition 

ky  Tiffany  Blake  in  the  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

Barbara  Ladd 

With  four  illustrations  by  Frank  Verbeck. 

Library  1 2mo,  gilt  top $1.50 

"  From  the  opening  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts  lures 
us  on  by  his  rapt  devotion  to  the  changing  aspects  of  Nature  and 
by  his  keen  and  sympathetic  analysis  of  human  character."  — 
Boston  Transcript. 


L.    C.  PAGE   AND    COMPANY'S 


Cameron  of  Lochiel 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Philippe  Aubert  de  Gaspe,  with 

frontispiece  in  color  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative $1-50 

"  Professor  Roberts  deserves  the  thanks  of  his  reader  for  giving 
a  wider  audience  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  this  striking  bit  of  French 
Canadian  literature."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  It  is  not  often  in  these  days  of  sensational  and  philosophical 
novels  that  one  picks  up  a  book  that  so  touches  the  heart."  — 
Boston  Transcript. 

The  Prisoner  of  Mademoiselle 

With  frontispiece  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
;    Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top      .         .         .        .     $1.50 

A  tale  of  Acadia,  —  a  land  which  is  the  author's  heart's  delight, 
—  of  a  valiant  young  lieutenant  and  a  winsome  maiden,  who  first 
captures  and  then  captivates. 

"  This  is  the  kind  of  a  story  that  makes  one  grow  younger,  more 
innocent,  more  light-hearted.  Its  literary  quality  is  impeccable. 
It  is  not  every  day  that  such  a  heroine  blossoms  into  even  tempo- 
rary existence,  and  the  very  name  of  the  story  bears  a  breath  of 
charm."  —  Chicago  Record- Herald. 

The  Heart  of  the  Ancient  Wood 

With  six  illustrations  by  James  L.  Weston. 

Library  I2mo,  decorative  cover $1.50 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  novels  of  recent  days."  —  Boston 
Journal. 

"  A  classic  twentieth-century  romance."  —  New  York  Commercial 
Advertiser. 

The  Forge  in  the  Forest 

Being  the  Narrative  of  the  Acadian  Ranger,  Jean  de  Mer, 
Seigneur  de  Briart,  and  how  he  crossed  the  Black  Abbe,  and  of 
his  adventures  in  a  strange  fellowship.  Illustrated  by  Henry 
Sandham,  R.  C.  A. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top $1.50 

A  story  of  pure  love  and  heroic  adventure. 

By  the  Marshes  of  Minas 

Library  i2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated  .  .  .  .  $1.50 
Most  of  these  romances  are  in  the  author's  lighter  and  more 

playful   vein;   each   is  a  unit  of  absorbing  interest  and   exquisite 

workmanship. 


LIST  OF  FICTION  5 

A  Sister  to  Evangeline 

Being  the  Story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  wemt  imto 
exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated      ....    $1.50 
Swift  action,  fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion, 
and  searching  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 


WORKS  OF 

LILIAN   BELL 

Hope  Loring 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover          ....    $1.50 

"  Lilian  Bell's  new  novel,  '  Hope  Loring,'  does  for  the  American 
girl  in  fiction  what  Gibson  has  done  for  her  in  art. 

"  Tall,  slender,  and  athletic,  fragile-looking,  yet  with  nerves  and 
sinews  of  steel  under  the  velvet  flesh,  frank  as  a  boy  and  tender 
and  beautiful  as  a  woman,  free  and  independent,  yet  not  bold  — 
such  is  '  Hope  Loring,'  by  long  odds  the  subtlest  study  that  has  yet 
been  made  of  the  American  girl."  —  Dorothy  Dix,  in  the  New  York 
American. 

Abroad  with  the  Jimmies 

With  a  portrait,  in  duogravure,  of  the  author. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover          ....    $1.50 

"  Full  of  ozone,  of  snap,  of  ginger,  of  swing  and  momentum."  — 
Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"...  Is  one  of  her  best  and  cleverest  novels  .  .  .  filled  to  the 
brim  with  amusing  incidents  and  experiences.  This  vivacious  narra- 
tive needs  no  commendation  to  the  readers  of  Miss  Bell's  well-known 
earlier  books."  —  N.  Y.  Press. 

At  Home  with  the  Jardines 

A  companion  volume  to  "  Abroad  with  the  Jimmies." 

Library  12010,  cloth  decorative $1.5° 

"  Bits  of  gay  humor,  sunny,  whimsical  philosophy,  and  keen  in- 
dubitable insight  into  the  less  evident  aspects  and  workings  of  pure 
human  nature,  with  a  slender  thread  of  a  cleverly  extraneous  love- 
story,  keep  the  interest  of  the  reader  fresh,  and  the  charmingly  old- 
fashioned  happy  ending  is  to  be  generously  commended.  Typical, 
characteristic  Lilian  Bell  sketches,  bright,  breezy,  amusing,  and 
philosophic."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


L.  C,  PAGE  AND   COMPANY'S 


The  Interference  of  Patricia 

With  a  frontispiece  from  drawing  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Small  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover $1.25 

"  There  is  life  and  action  and  brilliancy  and  dash  and  cleverness 
and  a  keen  appreciation  of  business  ways  in  this  story." —  Grand 
Rapids  Herald. 

"  A  story  full  of  keen  and  flashing  satire."  —  Chicago  Record- 
Herald. 

A  Book  of  Girls 

With  a  frontispiece. 

Small  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover $1-25 

"  The  stories  are  all  eventful  and  have  effective  humor."  —  New 
York  Sun. 

"  Lilian  Bell  surely  understands  girls,  for  she  depicts  all  the  varia- 
tions of  girl  nature  so  charmingly." —  Chicago  Journal. 

The  above  two  volumes  boxed  in  special  holiday  dress,  per  set,  $2.30 


WORKS  OF 

ALICE  MacGOWAN  AND  GRACE  Mac- 
GOWAN  COOKE 

Return 

A  STORY  OF  THE  SEA  ISLANDS  IN  1739.  With  six  illustrations 

by  C.  D.  Williams. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth $1.50 

"  So  rich  in  color  is  this  story,  so  crowded  with  figures,  it  seems 
like  a  bit  of  old  Italian  wall  painting,  a  piece  of  modern  tapestry, 
rather  than  a  modern  fabric  woven  deftly  from  the  threads  of  fact 
and  fancy  gathered  up  in  this  new  and  essentially  practical  country, 
and  therein  lies  its  distinctive  value  and  excellence." — N.  Y.  Sun. 

"  At  once  tender,  thrilling,  picturesque,  philosophical,  and  dra- 
matic. One  of  the  most  delightful  romances  we  have  had  in  many 
a  day."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

The  Grapple 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  Arthur  W.  Brown. 

Library  lamo,  cloth  decorative $1-50 

"The  movement  of  the  tale  is  swift  and  dramatic.  The  story  is 
so  original,  so  strong,  and  so  finely  told  that  it  deserves  a  large  and 
thoughtful  public.  It  is  a  book  to  read  with  both  enjoyment  and 
enlightenment."  —  N.  Y.  Times  Saturday  Review  of  Books. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


The  Last  Word 

Illustrated  with  seven  portraits  of  the  heroine. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top $l-5O 

"  When  one  receives  full  measure  to  overflowing  of  delight  in  a 
tender,  charming,  and  wholly  fascinating  new  piece  of  fiction,  the 
enthusiasm  is  apt  to  come  uppermost.  Miss  MacGowan  has  been 
known  before,  but  her  best  gift  has  here  declared  itself."  —  Louis- 
ville Post. 

Huldah 

With  illustrations  by  Fanny  Y.  Cory. 

Library  izmo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

Here  we  have  the  great-hearted,  capable  woman  of  the  Texas 
plains  dispensing  food  and  genial  philosophy  to  rough-and-ready 
cowboys.  Her  sympathy  takes  the  form  of  happy  laughter,  and 
her  delightfully  funny  phrases  amuse  the  fancy  and  stick  in  one's 
memory.  

WORKS  OF 

MORLEY  ROBERTS 

Rachel  Harr 

By  MORLEY  ROBERTS. 

Library  ismo,  cloth  decorative $1-5° 

"  A  novel  of  tremendous  force,  with  a  style  that  is  sure,  luxuriant, 
compelling,  full  of  color  and  vital  force."  —  Elia  W.  Peattie  in  Chi- 
cago Tribune. 

"  In  atmosphere,  if  nothing  else,  the  story  is  absolutely  perfect." 
—  Boston  Transcript. 

"  Will  be  widely  read  and  shrewdly  and  acutely  commented  upon 
through  many  years  yet  to  come." — Philadelphia  North  American. 

"  A  splendidly  wrought  book,  strong  as  the  winds  and  waves  are 
strong,  and  as  unregardful  as  they  of  mean  barriers."  —  Chicago 
Record-Herald. 

Lady  Penelope 

By  MORLEY   ROBERTS.     With  nine  illustrations  by  Arthur  W. 

Brown. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth $1.50 

"  For  celerity  of  movement,  originality  of  plot,  and  fertility  of  in- 
vention, not  to  speak  of  a  decided  audacity  in  situation,  '  Lady 
Penelope '  is  easily  ahead  of  anything  in  the  spring  output  of 
fiction."  —  Chicago  News. 

"  A  fresh  and  original  bit  of  comedy  as  amusing  as  it  is  auda- 
cious."—  Boston  Transcript, 


L.   C.   PAGE  AND    COMPANY'S 


The  Promotion  of  the  Admiral 

By  MORLEY  ROBERTS. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated.        .        .         .     $1.50 

"  If  any  one  writes  better  sea  stories  than  Mr.  Roberts,  we  don't 
know  who  it  is ;  and  if  there  is  a  better  sea  story  of  its  kind  than 
this  it  would  be  a  joy  to  have  the  pleasure  of  reading  it."  —  New 
York  Sun. 

"  There  is  a  hearty  laugh  in  every  one  of  these  stories."  —  The 
Reader. 

"  To  read  these  stories  is  a  tonic  for  the  mind ;  the  stories  are 
gems,  and  for  pith  and  vigor  of  description  they  are  unequalled."  — 
N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 


WORKS  OF 

STEPHEN  CONRAD 

The  Second  Mrs.  Jim 

By  STEPHEN  CONRAD.     With  a  frontispiece  by  Ernest  Fosbery. 

Large  1 6mo,  cloth  decorative $1.00 

Here  is  a  character  as  original  and  witty  as  "  Mr.  Dooley  "  or 
"  the  self-made  merchant."  The  realm  of  humorous  fiction  is 
now  invaded  by  the  stepmother. 

"It  is  an  exceptionally  clever  piece  of  work."  —  Boston  Tran- 
script. 

" '  The  Second  Mrs.  Jim '  is  worth  as  many  Mrs.  Wiggses  as 
could  be  crowded  into  the  Cabbage  Patch.  The  racy  humor  and 
cheerfulness  and  wisdom  of  the  book  make  it  wholly  delightful."  — 
Philadelphia  Press. 

Mrs.  Jim  and  Mrs.  Jimmie 

With  a  frontispiece  in  colors  by  Arthur  W.  Brown. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

This  book  is  in  a  sense  a  sequel  to  "  The  Second  Mrs.  Jim," 
since  it  gives  further  glimpses  of  that  delightful  stepmother  and  her 
philosophy. 

"  Plenty  of  fun  and  humor  in  this  book.  Plenty  of  simple  pathos 
and  quietly  keen  depiction  of  human  nature  afford  contrast,  and 
every  chapter  is  worth  reading.  It  is  a  very  human  account  of 
life  in  a  small  country  town,  and  the  work  should  be  commended 
for  those  sterling  qualities  of  heart  and  naturalness  so  endearing  to 
many." —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

ARTHUR  MORRISON 

The  Green  Diamond 

By  ARTHUR  MORRISON,  author  of  "  The  Red  Triangle,"  etc. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  with  six  illustrations          .     $1.50 
"  A  detective  story  of  unusual  ingenuity  and  intrigue."  —  Brooklyn 
Eagle. 

The  Red  Triangle 

Being  some  further  chronicles  of   Martin  Hewitt,  investigator. 

By  ARTHUR  MORRISON,  author  of  "  The  Hole  in  the  Wall," 

«  Tales  of  Mean  Streets,"  etc. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  Better  than  Sherlock  Holmes."  —  New  York  Tribune. 

"  The  reader  who  has  a  grain  of  fancy  or  imagination  may  be  de- 
fied to  lay  this  book  down,  once  he  has  begun  it,  until  the  last  word 
has  been  reached."  —  Philadelphia  North  American. 

WORKS  OF 

ELLIOTT  FLOWER 

Delightful  Dodd 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  '  Delightful  Dodd  '  is  a  new  character  in  fiction  who  is  filled  to 
the  brim  with  sound  philosophy  and  who  gives  it  quaint  expression. 
In  all  comments  concerning  every-day  life,  there  is  something  which 
appeals  to  the  human  heart  and  which  is  soundly  philosophical  and 
philosophically  sound.  The  story  is  one  of  quiet  naturalness."  — 
Boston  Herald. 

"  The  candor  and  simplicity  of  Mr.  Flower's  narrative  in  general 
give  the  work  an  oddity  similar  to  that  which  characterized  the 
stories  of  the  late  Frank  Stockton."  — Chicago  News. 

The  Spoilsmen 

Library  I2mo,  cloth $1.50 

"  The  best  one  may  hear  of  '  The  Spoilsmen '  will  be  none  too 
good.  As  a  wide-awake,  snappy,  brilliant  political  story  it  has  few 
equals,  its  title-page  being  stamped  with  that  elusive  mark,  '  suc- 
cess.' One  should  not  miss  a  word  of  a  book  like  this  at  a  time 
like  this  and  in  a  world  of  politics  like  this."  — Boston  Transcript. 


IO  L.    C.   PAGE   AND    COMPANY'S 

Slaves  of  Success 

With  twenty  illustrations  by  Jay  Hambidge. 

Library  i2mo,  cloth .     1 1.50 

"  In  addition  to  having  given  the  reading  public  the  best  collec- 
tion of  political  short  stories  we  have  yet  seen,  Mr.  Flower  has 
blazed  a  new  trail  in  the  more  or  less  explored  country  of  practical 
politics  in  fiction.  There  is  not  a  story  in  the  book  which  is  not 
clever  in  construction,  and  significant  in  every  sentence.  Each  is 
excellent,  because  it  depicts  character  accurately  and  realistically, 
while  unfolding  a  well-defined  plot." — New  York  Evening  Post. 


WORKS  OF 

THEODORE  ROBERTS 

Brothers  of  Peril 

With  four  illustrations  in  color Tjy  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

A  tale  of  Newfoundland  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  of  the  now 
extinct  Beothic  Indians  who  lived  there. 

"  An  original  and  absorbing  story.  A  dashing  story  with  a  histor- 
ical turn.  There  is  no  lack  of  excitement  or  action  in  it,  all  being 
described  in  vigorous,  striking  style.  To  be  sure,  the  ending  is  just 
what  is  expected,  but  its  strength  lies  in  its  naturalness,  and  this 
applies  to  the  whole  story,  which  is  never  overdone ;  and  this  is 
somewhat  remarkable,  for  there  are  many  scenes  that  could  be 
easily  spoiled  by  a  less  skilful  writer.  A  story  of  unusual  interest." 
—  Boston  Transcript. 

Hemming,  the  Adventurer 

With  six  illustrations  by  A.  G.  Learned. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  A  remarkable  interpretation  of  the  nomadic  war  correspondent's 
life."  —  N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"  Its  ease  of  style,  its  rapidity,  its  interest  from  page  to  page,  are 
admirable;  and  it  shows  that  inimitable  power,  —  the  story-teller's 
gift  of  verisimilitude.  Its  sureness  and  clearness  are  excellent,  and 
its  portraiture  clear  and  pleasing.  It  shows  much  strength  and 
much  mature  power.  We  should  expect  such  a  writer  to  be  full  of 
capital  short  stories."  —  The  Reader. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


REC'O  LD-i 

JAI 

DEC  01 1976 


Form  L9-Series  444 


•mi  IMI  illinium  i 1 1  in    |i 

A     000  124  926     7 


